


Diminished Star

by maebmad, TiBun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Multi, Role Reversal, Slow Burn, The Clone Wars - Freeform, obianidala
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13851597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maebmad/pseuds/maebmad, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiBun/pseuds/TiBun
Summary: The harsh reality of war was that, frankly, death could claim anyone at any time. Everyone close to the war knew that. Still, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Padme, and, really, the entire galaxy never expected Anakin "The Hero Without Fear" Skywalker to be a life lost. No one is prepared to deal with the aftermath; least of all Anakin himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: We do not own any recognizable characters, we only explore the possibilities.

Mace Windu sat stiffly in his council chair, his fingertips pressed together as he stared at the center of the floor where the order's most reckless knight stood in his dark tunics and robes, a smudge of grease on his cheek that hinted that the young man had been fooling around on a speeder, ship, or even a droid when he was called before the partial council.

Anakin Skywalker was not the right Jedi for the mission they had to assign. Mace had made this opinion clear and had voiced the suggestion that it be discussed by a full council and have a council member themselves handle the mission. Keep it secret from the rest of the order. But he'd been outvoted by the few other counselors that knew about the mission.

Pursing his lips together he took a deep breath before finally breaking the silence and demanding the full attention of the smug looking Jedi with dark blond curls framing his face. How this man had been trained by Obi-Wan Kenobi and had turned into such a headache, he would never know.

"Knight Skywalker, a matter of dire importance has come to the Council’s attention recently, and it requires immediate action to be taken. We are appointing you to this task."

Anakin, for his part, stood there and waited for further information, giving a respectful nod to the council. Mace took a moment to savor the deference, given the rest of the meeting was likely to be a disaster.

“This mission, however, demands absolute discretion from everyone involved. None of this may be discussed outside of the council chambers, and nothing can be divulged to those not already involved. Do you understand?”

Anakin wasn’t in the habit of enjoying anything that Mace Windu said—the man wriggled his way under Anakin’s skin in a way even Obi-Wan’s upright tendencies rarely did—but the insinuation in his voice was clear, and Anakin had to suppress the urge to laugh in front of the entire Council. Secrets? Yeah, he could do secrets.

The amusement passed quickly though, as the full brunt of the statement finally hit him. Missions these days, this far into the war, weren’t usually done alone, and didn’t have a lot of subtlety to them, especially where he was involved. The Republic and their troops were deep enough into the thick of the fighting that most missions were more of the ' _aim Skywalker at the enemy and let loose_ ' variety; and the idea of something different, something important enough that it couldn’t be shared was both tantalizingly new and concerning enough that he felt unease trickle over him, and he wondered why he was here.

He shoved away the automatic instinct to snark at Mace, composed himself into the image of a proper Jedi Knight, and as it was clear they were expecting a response, he asked: “What about this mission makes it so confidential?”

"First you must agree to it. You mustn't tell anyone. Not even Master Kenobi or Padawan Tano." Mace stated bluntly. "Only those in this room now are to know. We were not all in agreement of assigning this mission to you, understand, but your fame as the 'poster boy' of the republic gives assigning you an edge no one else could match. I expect you to not disappoint those who have so much faith in you." His tone made it clear that he was not one of those holding faith that Anakin was the best choice.

The cold disquiet he’d felt only intensified, and he looked around at the Masters seated around him—Obi-Wan’s absence, which had seemed merely strange earlier now felt a bit more foreboding—and saw the expressions on their faces range from displeasure to stoic resolve. “You want me to accept a mission without knowing what it is?” Anakin asked slowly, knowing he was pushing his luck, but something about it all didn’t sit right with him.

“More faith in us, you should have, young Skywalker,” Yoda said reproachfully. “Take this matter lightly, we do not.”

Anakin desperately wanted to push more, to find out what it was that was making a quiet warning ring in the back of his mind, but if it were a battle of persistence and patience, Anakin knew he would lose in spades to the Grandmaster, and his curiosity was quickly getting the better of him.

“Alright, then,” He said, “I accept the assignment. Are you allowed to tell me what it is I’m going to have to do?”

"Very well, if you accept that you'll not be able to share anything about this mission with anyone outside this room, then the briefing will begin." Mace repeated himself in order to firmly cement the urgency to secrecy in the young man's stubborn head.

"Understand, we would not ask this of you if it were not necessary." Shaak Ti tried to soothe the tension leaking into the Force.

"This mission has a critical set-up that must be done flawlessly and leave no doubt in anyone's mind that it was staged." Mace stated leaning back in his chair, "We will bait a known Bounty Hunter who too often uses illegal means to get his catch, into pursuing you, Kenobi, and Tano. You will wait for the perfect moment and fake your death. No doubt the Bounty Hunter will escape and brag about having killed you, which is fine. We will then apprehend this man and you will take his place—his appearance, his mannerisms—and complete the rest of your objective by infiltrating a group of criminals currently in republic detention. While you are undercover, there must be not doubt in the minds of the rest of the galaxy that you are dead.”

It took a moment for Anakin to process all of the information he was being given, but when it finally sunk in, all his muscles froze. If this was just the beginning of the mission, he didn’t want to hear what the rest would entail.

“No.” He told them, hating how stilted his voice sounded, but knowing it was still better than shouting. His response garnered many furrowed brows, and one very ‘ _I told you so_ ’ look from Master Windu. He didn’t really care about their reactions at the moment, though, because he wouldn’t be a part of this, and he wasn’t going to apologize for his bluntness. “I refuse.”

“Skywalker,” Mace pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the headache already forming behind his eyes, “You have already agreed to it.”

"You'll have the chance at finding out very critical intel of plans the Separatists are possibly putting into action. That information could help us save many lives and bring a quicker end to the war.” Shaak Ti stated, “We would not ask this of you if it wasn't so critical, young Skywalker."

“Allow you many liberties during wartime, we have.” Yoda added, staring at him over his gimmer stick, deceptively calm. “Wise to challenge us on this, it would not be.”

“You want me to fake my death,” Anakin repeated, not really sure why, but maybe they’d start to see how messed up it is if he just said it again. Maybe if he said it again, he himself would actually understand what was going on. “In front of my old Master; in front of my _Padawan_.”

He tried not to think of what her reaction would be. Ahsoka, while the best Padawan he could have hoped for, took after him in a few too many ways. Anakin wanted to be a good Jedi, wanted to be what the council wanted him to be, but too often some feeling or other would bubble up in him, fester in his chest until it couldn’t be contained any longer. Ahsoka, too, was not quiet with hers, when they were strong enough. His mind flashed to what his own reaction might’ve been, if it were Obi-Wan dead in front of him. The image was too terrible to even consider, and he knew himself well enough to admit that it wouldn’t end well for anyone.

"Their reactions would be critical in selling the story of your death. Focus would be on them at your funeral, and if anyone suspects that anyone is acting, then the mission could crumble around you." Mace stated.

“Ahsoka is still young,” Anakin said, the picture of her leaning over him as he died still burning at his eyelids.  “The death of her master would affect her greatly.”

“We understand your concern for your Padawan, Skywalker,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said kindly, like trying to soothe a wild animal. “We acknowledge that the situation would be trying on her, but Padawan Tano will be fine. Death is a natural part of life. As Jedi, we all learn and know this.”

Anakin tried not to seethe too visibly, but his teeth ground together and he felt his nails dig painful crescents into his palms. Anakin could remember being a new Padawan, nine years old, and waking up in the middle of the night during missions because Obi-Wan would gasp awake, Qui-Gon’s name on his lips, before he huddled in on himself in a very un-Jedi like manner. Obi-Wan had grown past it, obviously, but he’d been older then than Ahsoka was now, and Anakin still saw a flicker of old grief in Obi-Wan’s eyes whenever his old Master was brought up. Anakin didn’t want that for Ahsoka, would go to the very edges of the galaxy to make sure she never felt that.

“I am not in favor of this plan of action, either, Skywalker,” Plo Koon said flatly, “But I recognize the necessity for it, all the same. I have already assured the council that I will take responsibility for Ahsoka in the meantime.”

“Should she react to the events in a manner befitting a Jedi,” Shaak Ti spoke again, “We’re prepared to count it as her Trial of the Spirit, and she will be that much closer to being knighted. She will be a better Jedi for it.”

And that- well, that wasn’t nothing. Just the other day, Snips had been babbling excitedly to him about one of the older padawans’ trials and being knighted. He’d told her to be patient, that she was far too young, but he remembered being in her place, wanting nothing more than to prove himself.It was still too much, though. Anakin couldn’t do that to her, to Obi-Wan.

He’d already told them he would.

"We need you for this mission, Skywalker." Mace said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees as he stared Anakin down, "You are our only hope."

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Master?” Ahsoka whispered, carefully watching Anakin’s back as he strode ahead of them purposefully. His muscles were tense under his dark clothing, shoulders stiff as they had been for the past several days. It wasn’t too odd for Anakin to get in a mood, but even then, this was a bit unusual, and she couldn’t help but worry. “Is it me, or has Skyguy been acting weird this week?”

Obi-Wan sighed and placed a hand on her shoulder, considering how much to share with her. She was young, it wasn’t her job to be Anakin’s keep and she shouldn’t be worried with his moods, but she did have to be around him more than most. "It's not just you. Just this morning he snapped at me for asking him if he wanted one lump or two in his breakfast tea. Something's weighing heavily on his mind, but he won't talk to me about it."

“Maybe he’s just anxious. We’ve been on Coruscant longer than usual,” She suggested, trying to quell the swirl of unease in her stomach. “It’s different this time, though. Nothing… bad? Just different.”

Anakin was a good Master, if not frustrating at times, and that hadn’t changed. If they were out of the fight for too long, he did get waspish, and there’d been plenty of that during their off-time, but a few days ago, something had changed, like a switch had been thrown. If anything, he’d been more patient with her, quicker with a smile or to throw a joke back at her, ready to tease her or to make her laugh. The thing that had bothered her were the small moments in between these, when he thought she wasn’t looking, when something dark passed over his face, that made the rest feel like a brittle cover.

She thought back to two days ago, when she’d found him staring out a window, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed together. The Force had been bucking wildly around him in distress. She’d startled him when she’d asked what was wrong, and she could almost see him trying to find some way to brush it off before he’d sighed.

‘ _You know I’m proud of you, Snips, right? You’re going to be a great Jedi._ ’

The warmth and affection for her Master had flooded before quickly being joined by apprehension. Even now, something about it rang false.

She shook her head, clearing the thoughts. “Sorry, it’s probably nothing.”

"He'll come to one of us when he's ready to talk about it.” Obi-Wan tried to assure her. “Or even Senator Amidala or the Chancellor. He used to do this all the time as a padawan. Close himself off for a few days until he can't anymore, then he finally goes to someone he's close to, and he comes back fine.” Most of the time, at least. Ahsoka was right about one thing, the war did weigh heavily on all of them. “We'll see him return to the Anakin we know and love soon. Now—Watch out!"

He’d only seen it out of the corner of his eye, but the last few years of battle had wired vigilance into his system and his body sprang into action before he could even process the situation, igniting his lightsaber to deflect a hail of blaster shots from above, shielding Ahsoka.

“Get down!” Anakin shouted, running over to them, lightsaber out as well. His heart raced and his pulse pounded. This was it, this was it. Obi-Wan directed a bolt back towards the direction they came from, and the barrage cut off for a moment. “Obi-Wan, roofs. You take the left, I’ll take the right. Ahsoka, follow below, stay safe.”

Anakin turned and leapt to the roof before either of them could argue and squeezed his eyes against the adrenalin flooding his system. This was it. He began to run in the direction he knew would bring him in good view of the sniper.

Obi-Wan stared after him for only a moment, before leaving Ahsoka with a “Be careful!” and following his partner.

Thinking about death was pretty commonplace by this point in the war, especially for those serving on the front lines. The Jedi and their troops were constantly aware that any mission could be last, and that rather black cloud hanging over their heads leant itself well to bouts of dark humor to cope. This was why, three weeks previous, the 501st Legion had found themselves in the clone barracks, trying to figure out what their last words might be, trying to show each other up with how witty or suave they could be.

Dogma, predictably, said his would be “Pleasure serving with you, Sir,” and hadn’t appreciated the varying responses that were more disrespectful. Rex preferred the timeless “See you in hell,” tacking on afterwards that, if his death were the fault of the Commander or General’s antics in battle, the _you_ in the statement would be singular, and very pointed. Laughter had erupted from the rest of the troopers, and several bets being placed on what ridiculous thing the two Jedi would inevitably do in upcoming missions. Ahsoka and Anakin had doubled over, cackling most of the night, especially because mosts of the bets were outlandish, but not too improbable given their track record.

Now, running, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, Anakin’s mind strayed back to that night, the warmth and camaraderie of it, and ached with everything he was about to do. He wondered offhandedly if anyone had bet on something like this. He considered what their reactions to his death might be, what would happen to them in his absence. He wished he had asked the council about this, wished he had asked them to integrate the 501st and the 212th for the duration. They wouldn’t want to be split up, Anakin knew, and Obi-Wan could be trusted with his men. It was too late for that now, and he could request them all back once he was done.

Anakin thought about that night, wondered what he should say, what his first round of last words should be, if either Obi-Wan or Ahsoka would get to him in time for him to still be aware enough to talk.

His stomach twisted at the thought. Since receiving the mission, Anakin had been keenly aware of everything he said to Obi-Wan and Ahsoka, was sure they’d noticed something off about him, but he hadn’t been able to help the feeling that every word out of his mouth dripped with some sort of finality, like he’d been expecting to be picked off in the temple at any moment and wanted to make every sentence perfect, just in case. He thought about that morning, about Obi-Wan and tea, about how he always thought that a warm drink and meditation could make things better, and Anakin had snapped because _they couldn’t_.

Anakin blew out a breath, cursed himself internally, because sure, he could pretend to be a violent criminal, a bounty hunter, but acting normal around the two of the people who knew him best had been another thing. That was his last morning with Obi-Wan for a while, and he’d been an ass.

A blaster bolt hit the roof next to him. No more time. He breathed sharply. He plunged the needle into his leg, the vital-suppressant flooding his system as he tossed it away. Anakin, for just a moment, thought about deflecting the next shot, about taking the sniper in and finding another way around this problem. Only a moment, though. He knew his orders. He stepped out, watched as a red blaze approached, struck him in a hard, burning shot to the chest. Then, all he felt was falling.

"Skyguy!" Ahsoka cried out, watching her master fall, hitting the ground without the Force shifting to lesson the blow. That worried her even more than watching him go down, and she abandoned her pursuit and veered off towards her master. She reached him and fell to her knees, pulling his lifeless body up into her arms as her wide eyes surveyed the scorch marks on his tunics. " _Skyguy_!" she cried out again to him, shaking him, looking for a sign that he was okay. "Master! Open your eyes! _Please_! Master!"

"I lost the shooter." Obi-Wan said, dropping down behind Ahsoka, scouring the rooftops for any more signs of danger. "Flash grenade; I'm still seeing spots. Didn't see Anak—"

The world stopped around Obi-Wan. Anakin was on the ground, not moving, Ahsoka cradling him and looking up at Obi-Wan with wide, wet eyes. It was the kind of sight Obi-Wan always feared most he’d have to see, and now it was here, right before him. _No_ , was the only thought his mind could conjure, _nononono_ , but his body moved for him, rushing forward and dropping to his knees, reaching out to cup Anakin's face, "Anakin! What—what happened?" He moved a hand down to his neck to check for a pulse. Weak and stuttering, erratic and fading, but there.

Anakin gave a desperate cough, edges of his vision dark and fuzzy, but consciousness still clinging by a thread. He could feel his heart slowing, feel the air in his lungs thinning and his muscles scream for oxygen. Panic seized him as his body became a chorus of _you’re going to die, you’re dying_ , but all he could pay attention to was the horror in the eyes of the figures above him, shadowed and indistinct.

“I’m sorry,” He gasped out, hearing someone cry his name again. He didn’t know who it was, the weight of every cell in his body dragging him down, unable to lift his head to look. They needed to know, though. He needed to tell them. “I’m sorry.”

“Anakin!” Ahsoka shook him, hand flitting from his face to the spot of the blaster hit, trying frantically to find something she could do. She cried out wordlessly as the Force spasmed around him, flickering and shuddering like a flame about to go out.

“Anakin, I need you to stay with us,” Obi-Wan tried to pull the calm of the Force around him, tried to trust in it, trust that everything would be alright. “Please, just stay with us.”

“I’m-I’m sorry.” Anakin wasn’t sure he even got the words out. His chest panged, his heart giving a few, last leaps in hopes of keeping him there. It wasn’t enough. Anakin’s world faded to a soft, welcoming black, like he’d known it would.

" _Anakin_!" Obi-Wan cried out, even as he felt him go. He couldn’t believe it, _wouldn’t_ believe it. He felt so—empty. So weak, and all he could do was sit there, his body heavy but relaxed as his mind and heart tried to make sense of what was happening.

Every muscle in Anakin’s body was limp, Ahsoka’s small form struggling to keep him off the ground. Anakin’s neck had gone still beneath his fingers and that knowledge threatened to scrape his chest hollow, leave him vacant of any thought or feeling. He wasn’t- He couldn’t- There was still time, this wasn’t the end, they could still help. And yet, all he could do was sit there, numb and unbelieving that anything around him was real.

He swallowed, and not knowing how long they sat there in the dirty streets of Coruscant, he finally did move to take Anakin's body into his arms. Vaguely wondering how his shaking arms had the strength—how his legs could hold his and Anakin's dead weight.  All he knew was he needed to get Anakin back to safety, to the temple—the healing halls…surely it wasn't too late… _surely_ …

Without a word he simply began walking back towards the Temple.

“We have to call a med-transport,” Ahsoka said, in step beside him, entire body trembling. “We can still- He could- He can’t-”

"He's not, and he's going to be okay." Obi-Wan choked out in the calmest tone he could manage; needing it to be as true for him as much as her. “We just need to get back—the healers—they'll…he's fine.".

“I’m going to go ahead,” Ahsoka latched onto his calm, his surety. Anakin had survived worse things than this. This wouldn’t be the end for him, couldn’t be, Obi-Wan just said so, and he had to be right. “Make sure the medbay is ready when you get there.”

"Yes…yes, that would be smart." Obi-Wan gave a short jerked nod that had Ahsoka sprinting on ahead. Left with his former Padawan in his arms and keeping his steady pace Obi-Wan kept dragging his feet forward. If he slowed, he'd collapse to his emotions, but if he sped up, he might panic. He couldn't do that. A Jedi was master of his emotions.

He held Anakin a little tighter.

Both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka letting every thought fall away against the backdrop of their footsteps pounding beneath them. Anakin would be alright.

When they finally made it, Ahsoka watched, fists clenched by her sides, as Obi-Wan lowered Anakin on to the bed, gentle and reluctant to leave even as the med droids shooed them away. It could have been moments, it could have been years, Ahsoka wasn’t sure, but she felt Obi-Wan beside her as they watched through a window, droids bustling around Anakin with equipment—oxygen masks and needles and defibrillators—until someone decided that the flat line on the monitor by the bed wasn’t going to change.

She should be distraught, she thought, should be crying and screaming like she been close to when he fell. But that urge was gone now. She felt nothing but a sick, cold, pervasive numbness. She felt the absence of feeling, as stark as the white lighting of the room through the window, like she were suddenly detached from her body, from the world it inhabited. The fingers the splayed on the transparisteel didn’t feel like hers, even as she registered the cool surface beneath her palm. The rise and fall of her chest, the beating of her heart didn’t feel like hers, like it were the echo of someone else, and the flutter of it was a shadow of the original in someone else’s body.

Maybe Anakin was the same, right now, existing somewhere outside of what he was, feeling and unfeeling at the same time. The dark figure on the bed didn’t feel like Anakin just as much as she didn’t feel like her. His force presence was gone, where it normally blazed, blinding as a sun. Now only the slightest glow clung to his edges, like fading embers. That couldn’t be him, because he couldn’t be gone.

One of the med droids pulled a white sheet gently over the thing on the bed that _wasn’t Anakin_ , and Ahsoka couldn’t stay there another minute. She couldn’t stand beside Obi-Wan at the window, she couldn’t watch them take him away, couldn’t- Couldn’t stay there. Before she’d even thought about doing it, her legs took off at a run down the corridor, not sure where she was going, but knowing anywhere would be better than where she’d been. Anywhere was better than wherever her feet touched and so she didn’t stop, kept trying to get away from where she was.

 

* * *

 

As a Padawan and even as a Knight, Anakin could fall asleep anywhere, _would_ fall asleep anywhere, anytime they could. It had gotten worse during the war, moments for sleep coming few and far between. Anakin was often reluctant to rest if he felt there was something more important to be done, but there was a breaking point. Obi-Wan had once found Anakin, fully unconscious underneath his starfighter, having drifted off in the middle of repairs. He’d always wake with aches, wince as muscles pulled, and Obi-Wan would tease him gently, fondly—concern smothered beneath layers of sarcasm—about how his bunk might suit him better.

All of this meant that, for just a moment, when Obi-Wan had first seen Anakin, his head having fallen, twisted to the side, the first thought that entered his mind was that he should wake him, shouldn’t let him sleep like that because he’d wake up sore and be irritable the rest of the day. He had the urge to take Anakin in his arms and, like he’d done when his Padawan was younger, smaller, carry him, asleep, and lay him in his bed to rest.

Anakin wasn’t sleeping. This wasn’t sleep, and Obi-Wan knew that.

He almost chased after Ahsoka when she took off down the corridor, but it felt like his legs were welded to the floor. He watched as she disappeared around the corner, her name on his tongue, too late. Always too late. When he turned back, the bed that Anakin had been on was gone, and the droids were efficiently packing away equipment. They had the luxury of not feeling the Force, not hearing it keen in distress around Ahsoka, around him. They had the luxury to go on, unaffected. Obi-Wan’s vision blurred at the blinding lights, unfocused, until he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool transparisteel.

It felt too much like when Anakin had his walls firmly up, blocking even their bond. When he was in a mood and didn't want to be found. It didn't feel right. Obi-Wan was sure that the Force should feel more empty. A sharp black hole where a brilliant light had been. He was sure he should feel the bond snap just as he had when Qui-Gon had slipped away into the Force. But then again, he wasn't that young padawan anymore. He had been hardened by war and had grown into a Jedi Master. He was more in control of his attachments. That had to be the difference. But his arms still shook with the phantom weight of Anakin, of Qui-Gon. Apparently, he had not learned enough the first time around. Apparently, he was destined to repeat his failures. Repeat the heartache of loss. He still could not protect the people he loved the most.

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to do or where to go. He could go find Ahsoka, but the thought of tracking her down, feeling everything he felt in the Force amplified by her, seemed unbearable for them both. He could go to the council, one of the Masters, and inform them of what had happened. It was a good idea in theory, telling them so they could try to move forward, figure out which steps to take from there. Obi-Wan’s stomach churned at the thought, though. He pictured their impassive faces, their lack of reaction, and even imagining it made him want to scream.

 _'There is no emotion, there is peace_ ,' they would tell him, ' _there is no death, there is the Force'._ He would stand before them and nod and accept it because he was a Jedi, and that was the Jedi way. But he couldn’t. If he went now, faced that now, he wouldn’t be able to keep calm.

 _There is nothing peaceful about this_ , he thought, feeling his pulse pound in his head, his fingertips, and his forehead against the transparisteel wall was the only thing that kept him upright. He closed his eyes as the cold burned into his skin, let the feeling sink in and spread through him. It was a comfort, if a slight one. It made the idea of moving from the spot even less appealing, but Obi-Wan knew he couldn’t stay there.

 _Padmé_ , the thought finally came to him. She wouldn’t know, and no one would think to tell her. She needed to know. She _deserved_ to know, to find out from someone who _cared_ about Anakin as well. And maybe, just for one night—one night before he gathered up his thoughts and emotions, and let them be replaced by the peace the code offered, demanded—he could let himself give in to it all, to be with someone who would let themselves feel everything freely, too.

 _There is no ignorance,_ he thought bitterly, _there is knowledge_. And there were people with whom the knowledge deserved to be shared, even if it hurt. Even if he had to be the one to hurt them.

* * *

To be continued…


	2. Chapter 2

"Senator," a soft voice interrupted Padmé's gentle, relaxed thoughts as she lay mostly submerged in a warm bubble bath. A few stray curls had escaped from where the rest of her hair was piled neatly on her head, and they clung heavy and damp to her neck. The light perfume of her soap sat in the air, and Padmé smiled as she breathed it in.

"Haven't I told you that you can call me Padmé?" she hummed, opening her eyes and looking to the woman standing in the doorway. A new addition to her ladies in waiting.

"Oh—yes, sorry, Padmé." The young woman flushed, "Apologies, I'm not used to being so informal with those I work for…"

"It's alright.” Padmé reassured, remembering the same song and dance from the others. It would take some time, but the girl would come around. Dacé, Padmé remembered her name was, was sweet, if quiet, but was someone who could easily become a friend. Padmé definitely hoped she would be, in time. “Now, what were you wanting to tell me?"

"You have a visitor, a Jedi. I thought you would like to know. Jedi usually mean important things."

"A Jedi, hmm?" Padmé said, feeling her smile become broader at the thought of Anakin in the hallway outside her apartment. She stepped out of her bath before reaching for her fluffy towel to dry off the water and any bubbles clinging to and dripping down her skin, "Show him in, I'll be right out."

"Right away." The young woman bowed her head and hurried off to show the Jedi into the main sitting room of Padmé's penthouse apartment in upper Coruscant, and leaving the Senator herself to slip into some clothes.

A simple nightgown was all she pulled out of her wardrobe. She wasn’t shy about how she looked under her husband’s loving gaze, nor did she want to leave him waiting as she got properly dressed in all the layers of a gown. Skipping over the idea of shoes or any accessories, she hurried to greet her guest, but stopped short when she spotted a head of familiar red hair over the back of a couch rather than the golden curls she had hoped to see.

"Master Kenobi…" she said, cursing herself as her surprise made itself clear in her voice. She pulled her arms around herself to create the mental illusion of being properly dressed to meet with the Jedi Master. She knew him well enough, but didn't consider them particularly close and she hadn’t spoken with him alone in a great while. But he was a respectful man, and she knew he wouldn't act inappropriately. She idly wondered what might spur such a late visit from him that wouldn’t have brought Anakin along, but—

He stood up and turned around, and her arms fell to her sides. Obi-Wan always seemed the pinnacle of Jedi restraint; calm, poised, confident.  This man standing before her was none of those things, eyes flat and hair in disarray.

"My Lady Senator Amidala," he said in a voice that was almost normal, but there was something faintly choking his words, "I—I apologize for arriving so unexpectedly—"

Obi-Wan had always been a poet with his words, he didn’t falter. It was what he was known for across the holonet— _the Negotiator_ , they called him. So to hear him speak so unsurely now only increased the feeling of dread pooling in her stomach. She couldn’t think what would prompt something like this. It could be another threat on her life. She's had more than her fair share as queen and then senator. It would be worrying, should it happen again, but not like this. It wouldn't have shaken this particular man to such a degree to be the bearer of such an announcement. No. This had to be something—horrible. Unexpected.

Her hands clenched by her sides. They felt cold, clammy.

Obi-Wan sighed and seemed to swallow around a lump in his throat as he moved forward and took her hand to gently guide her over to the couch and had her sit next to him. She let him lead her, eyes never once leaving his face.

"Senator." He said, and then looked vaguely pained, before amending. “Padmé. I—”

He stopped, ran a hand over his face, fingers pressing at his eyes, like he couldn’t endure another word. For the first time, Padmé felt a stab of freezing, serrated fear. This wasn’t business, then. It was personal, unthinkable. Where was Anakin—

“Master Kenobi,” She said, cutting off her own thought, and pulling every shred of authority she could manage into her voice. It still shook, not being able to rid her mind of the image it had conjured. “Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

She watched for another moment as he met her gaze. He looked like he was choking on words that wouldn’t come, suffocating around them. Until he wasn’t.

“He’s dead.” The words spilled out of his mouth, a sob, syllables tripping over each other, nearly unintelligible beneath his Coruscanti accent. They were as hard to process as they must have been to speak, because Padmé didn’t register them, didn’t move. “Anakin’s gone, Padmé.”

He couldn’t be, though, because Padmé would have known. She would’ve known if he were dead. It couldn’t be the truth. This was some cruel trick, some misunderstanding — anything that would make it not real.

But here was Obi-Wan, sitting before her, eyes red and shining. It was a sight Padmé had never pictured before, never would have thought she’d see. It made the floor, the sofa feel unsteady beneath her. Obi-Wan wouldn’t accept something like this unless he knew it were true, and he wouldn’t come tell her unless it was too late, unless there was nothing left he could do. Anakin wasn’t here. He hadn’t come with Obi-Wan and now-

“No,” She said. “No, that’s not true.”

“Padmé-”

“No!” She cried out, flying to her feet and yanking her hand from Obi-Wan’s as she strode from the sofa. “No, it’s not true. Don’t-”

Obi-Wan sank down, resting elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. Padmé felt nothing but an insidious, burning anger as she watched the man. To have the _audacity_ to lie to her, to lie about something like _this_ -

“I think it’s best if you leave, Jedi Master Kenobi.”

“Padmé, please.” His voice broke on the words, broke like they were slamming down on top of her and snapping into two. “Don’t be so formal with me. Not right now. Not when-”

The words were desperate, as if he needed her to understand. And maybe they were true, but she refused to let herself realize it. Realize it and accept the news he'd dared utter.

She felt her hands shake by her sides, felt traitorous tears well up in her eyes.

It was suddenly clear he was having a very hard time holding in his tears of his own. It was clear he had built up a weak wall to hide everything, and now it was bowing out, threatening to break apart beneath the force of his emotions.

“No.” She said, again, softer this time. It was not sharpened with denial, but blunted with despair. She felt the difference between the two grasping at her lungs, constricting them until she was left breathless, her head spinning. The tremble in her hands echoed up through her arms, turned into a shaking that consumed her. Padmé had been a queen, was now a senator. Anakin’s death was almost as much of an inevitability as it was a surprise, and this would not be the thing to finally bring her to her knees, she thought. But her knees shook anyways, felt weak beneath the burden of the rest of her, and she barely made it back to the couch before they gave out beneath her. “No.”

Obi-Wan’s dam was barely containing the inevitable waves, but now she had her own and there were some things even she couldn’t push down behind the mask of a politician. The first tear tracked slowly down her cheek, and the rest followed in a monsoon. She sobbed, the gasps wracking her body as she fell forward onto Obi-Wan's shoulder. She couldn't say anything. She could only cry into his tunic, grateful for the arms he slid around her in comfort. The dam had broken, the hurricane had made landfall and she was helpless to do anything but drown in everything that came with it. She lost herself in the rhythm of crying, the jagged inhale and exhale like the rocking of a boat, as soothing as it was nauseating.

It was supremely cruel of the universe to be so abrupt. Her husband was a general in a war, often gone for weeks or months at a time, and she knew what to expect from this. Everytime his ship left the planet, she kissed him goodbye in private, and kept a smile on her face, knowing that there was always a chance she’d never see him again. She knew that war was savage and unpredictable and that everything she cared about could be taken from her in a moment. But not now. She hadn’t expected it now. Anakin had still been on Coruscant, hadn’t been off in a siege or chasing down Dooku. He’d visited her just the day before.

She’d always thought she’d know if it happened. Thought that, somehow, if it happened in some far-off system, she’d feel the monumental shift in the fate of the Republic and her life. Padmé wasn’t in tune with the Force the way Jedi were, but it seemed so unfair that the thread of Anakin’s life, so entwined with hers, could be cut so suddenly and silently that she wouldn’t notice. Instinctual disbelief welled up in her, denial that this could possibly happen because, _she would know, wouldn’t she?_

But she hadn’t. Instead, when it happened, Padmé had been bathing, letting the warm water leech away the stress and frustration that came with her work. It didn't seem fair. Or appropriate that she would lose her husband when she was in her home. And he’d still been on Coruscant. _She should have known_.

She didn’t know how long she wept, but Obi-Wan let her cry into his shoulder until her tears ran dry, leaving her hiccupping. Her eyes and chest ached, every muscle in her body felt limp. Now that the tide of immediate grief was going down, exhaustion and shame crept into its place, leaving her painfully aware of her position. Her hands buzzed with something self-conscious where they clung to his arm, the fabric on his chest. Regardless of how close he’d been with Anakin— _Anakin is dead, he’s dead and you’ll never see him again, your husband is gone—_ Obi-Wan was still a Knight of the Jedi Order. Somehow she found the energy to lift her head from his shoulder, and wipe uselessly at the wet tracks beneath her eyes.

“Apologies, Master Kenobi.” She said, determinedly looking anywhere but him. She hated the way her voice sounded watery and frail. “That wasn’t very becoming of me.”

“There is no need for apology.” Obi-Wan said, and if Padmé didn’t know better, she’d say he sounded like he’d been crying nearly as hard as she had. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, trying to expel the fatigue that lingered in every cell of her body. “If I’d wished for propriety and stoicism, I could have gone to the council.”

“And why did you come here, then, Obi-Wan? For hysteria?”

“For someone else who cared about him,” Obi-Wan sounded nearly as tired as she felt. “For someone he cared about. I know how close you were. You deserved to know. And not from the holonet. From someone who cared about him, as well.”

She felt a stab of fierce gratitude for that, and tried not to imagine it. The holonews playing softly in the background of the room as she worked, hearing his name from the mouth of someone who hadn’t known him, likely had never met him—it was unbearable to even picture. She tried not to think about how they’d move on, talk about what it meant for the war effort, as if he didn’t matter as a person, only a weapon. She probably wouldn’t have to imagine soon enough—it would be everywhere by morning—but at least she would already know. At least by then she could already have anticipated the detached, impersonal report of her life being torn apart.

She registered the rest of his words, then, and her spine stiffened, shoulders going tight. Would she and Anakin be found out? Did Obi-Wan know exactly how close they were?

Then again, maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” She said softly, and, for lack of any better way to convey her appreciation or channel her nervousness, placed a hand on top of one of his own where it clenched at his knee. Obi-Wan stared down at the hand, and didn’t move. Perhaps it was not as comforting as she’d hoped. “It’s always hard to lose a… friend such as Anakin, but I am grateful to have you here.”

“Padmé-” Obi-Wan paused, rubbed at his temples in hopes of driving away the tear-educed headache that pounded vigorously at his skull with every movement. He wanted to choose his words carefully. “Please, no lies. Not tonight. I know. About you. About Anakin. I know about your relationship. I've always known.”

“What-” Padmé’s head snapped around to look at him, her heart leaping to a gallop, and excuses flew from her mouth before she could even think. “Relationship? No, I don’t think-”

“He tried to hide it,” He continued like he hadn’t heard her, hadn’t noticed her distress. He smiled ruefully down at his hands now. “He was never very good at that, though. Hiding how he felt about things. He wore his heart on his sleeve as long as I've known him. And I know him too well for me not to notice his feelings towards you. Knew him.” He grimaced, a flash of pure agony on his face, and then gone again. He shook his head, as if trying physically to clear away the thought. “And you made him smile. Around you, he was so happy that I just—let it go.”

Now that Padmé was looking at him, she could watch as his head hung down, bowing beneath the weight of everything that had happened.

“He made me happy.” She said, barely a whisper, and was surprised to find that the words, though true, hurt more than anything else that had been said so far that night. Because he _had_ made her happy, and she him, but that was gone now. The smiles and soft touches, long nights with someone warm at her back, they wouldn’t happen ever again. The loss of those moments—those pieces of pure, unadulterated happiness—struck like a blow all their own. She saw the line between Obi-Wan’s eyebrows deepen, and thought he probably understood. “I think he made you happy, too.”

It was Obi-Wan’s turn to stiffen. “We didn’t- We weren’t… involved.”

“Married.” Padmé supplied, because what did it matter now. The Order couldn’t punish Anakin for breaking the code now, and Padmé didn’t have the energy to lie to Obi-Wan anymore. He deserved more than that. “We were married.”

“Oh.” Said Obi-Wan, and it seemed like he couldn’t figure out how else to respond to that. He’d known they had a relationship of a sort, but marriage was something entirely different.

“It was after Geonosis.” She continued, not really sure why, but she could practically see it behind her eyelids right now, and she’d never actually told anyone about it before. She’d never had the chance. “The war had just begun and he’d just gotten his new arm and everything seemed so large, so beyond us.”

Now Obi-Wan was watching her, eyes wide as if seeing her for the first time. She supposed he was, in a way, through the lens of being Anakin’s wife.

“He proposed one night, after we returned to Naboo. It was clear and warm out. He was so nervous, stuttered nearly the entire time.” She clapped a hand over her mouth to smother a laugh as she remembered it. She felt nearly as hysterical now as she had earlier, felt tears well up again, this time as she felt her chest swell with half-remembered giddiness and joy. “It was like he’d never spoken words before. Had this whole speech planned out, but he barely got through half before he just asked.”

She saw Obi-Wan from the corner of her eye as he raked fingers through his hair. He was half bewildered by all of the information, half caught in a fond remembrance of Anakin’s twitchy anxiety before seeing Padmé again all those years ago.

“He told me later.” She pulled her legs up onto the sofa, knees against her chest, and her nightgown thankfully followed in a way that kept her covered. “Last year, I think? Gave me the whole speech from beginning to end, the way he’d intended it. I swear, it was like he got shy again. Like he thought I would reject him then, the second time around.” She thought of him then, kneeling on the floor of the veranda, hair long and burnished copper-gold by the orange of the Coruscanti sky. “It was beautiful too, in a very Anakin way.”

A sob broke out from her again, unexpected. Her hand covered her mouth again, as if to hold in any more unwanted cries, but Obi-Wan offered a hand of his own out to her, slow and what would have been unsure on anyone else, but was more comforting from him. She took it and squeezed lightly, taking comfort in the warm weight of it.

“What did he say?” His voice was hoarse now, throat feeling raw. Padmé wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to know or was trying to keep her from breaking down again, but it didn’t really matter right then.

“I don’t remember most of it,” She admitted, and blew a loose strand of hair from her face. She squeezed her eyes to banish the tears gathering again. “I have a holorecording somewhere but… I’d been scared. About the war, about him being sent off to fight. So he told me about his childhood, about Tatooine.”

The image of Anakin the last time they’d been on Tatooine filled her mind, but she brushed it away. That was only a piece of the man that she loved.

“Slaves weren’t always able to stay together. Some of them were split from their families, sold where they were needed,” She remembered him explaining, remembered scowling as he told her of it before he’d laughed that, _no, this is where the happy part comes_. She’d hoped desperately that he was right. “So they had the stars. Constellations that only they knew about, that they could navigate by. It was a way of saying that, no matter what happened, as long as the stars were shining, their was always a chance of finding their way home.

“He said as long as we had stars shining in the sky, we’d always find our way back to each other,” She knew she was losing the battle against the sobs bubbling up in her chest. “Across galaxies, across systems, across the stars.” She gripped Obi-Wan’s hand tighter again as she gave in to the returning tide of grief. “How is he going to find me now?”

"He already has." Obi-Wan whispered so quietly, so gently. Afraid that any louder and his voice would break completely. “Many times, Padmé. You were a star for him, I think. Your light guided him more often than I realized.”

And there she was again, in Obi-Wan’s arms, shaking as tears streamed down her face, gasping every chance she got. It seemed he’d found his poetry again.

“What was the wedding like, then?” Asked Obi-Wan and, oh, he was trembling, too. He needed the distraction as much as her. “Tell me about your wedding.”

“It was by the lake,” She said between gulps of air. “On Naboo. The sun was setting, behind the mountains.” She couldn’t help the grin that spread over her face, even as the tears continued to pour. “He still had that dreadful Padawan haircut.”

Laughter took over, leaving different, kinder tears streaming from her eyes as she thought of the shorn hair, the long braid. She felt more than heard Obi-Wan’s laughter join hers, and she pushed at his arm.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” She said accusingly. “You had it before, too. I was there, back then.”

And didn’t that just feel like millenia ago. Before war, before Shmi and Qui-Gon had died, before secrets and lies had ruled her life. There had been Obi-Wan with his terrible haircut and surly attitude, and Anakin with his own odd bowl of hair and golden disposition. They had been there, together, at the start of it all. Now it was just the two of them here, with the end of the war still out of sight. It felt profoundly unfair. The silence settled into the room, soft and light, and could feel Obi-Wan’s heart beating through his chest.

She remembered a number of afternoons in this room, colored orange by the Coruscanti sky. She remembered Anakin grinning at her, mischievous while he floated a datapad with her work or some other important document out of her reach, and she remembered kissing him, deep and hot until she heard what she needed clatter to the ground. She remembered pulling away, retrieving it, leaving Anakin to smile and chase after her. She thought about how much laughter and love had happened in this room, would never again fill her heart. She was too tired to cry anymore. Her body was out of water to waste and too tired to get up and get any to drink.

Padmé thought about the man at her side, eyes now closed in what must’ve been some sort of partial meditative state, and wondered how often he’d seen Anakin like that—happy and carefree. They had spent so much time together, off on missions, but it probably didn’t allow for too much frivolity. She’d have to ask him sometime soon, she thought. Ask Obi-Wan to share anything, if he could, about the Anakin she didn’t get to see as often. Maybe he could bring a piece of her husband to life again, just for a time. It was worth asking.

“The funeral is tomorrow.” He finally said softly to break the comfortable but sad silence that had fallen between them as they had fallen to their thoughts. The words dragged through it, like they were reluctant to exist.

“Oh.” She replied.

For a moment, she had the urge to go to the Jedi temple, marriage license in hand, and demand to take Anakin to Naboo, give him a funeral the husband of a former queen deserved. He could be cremated in the temple in Theed and she could spread his ashes into the Solleu river. She recalled her mother telling her as a child, when an uncle had died and she watched as her aunt scattered the ashes into the water below, that it meant their persons’ life returned to the planet. She thought Anakin might like that, being part of Naboo. He loved her planet, and he would be spread through the water. It felt right.

But Anakin had always been a Jedi before anything else. He’d given his life to the Order, first as a child, and again now. Being a Jedi was everything to him. He deserved a funeral befitting that.

"Jedi funerals are generally private affairs in the temple.” He said. “Only the council and the Jedi's lineage and closest friends from the order attending, but…it feels only right that I—would you like to attend it with me? I can get you an exception to the tradition…it would be tomorrow afternoon…"

She nodded and  sniffed as she lifted her head from his shoulder at last and looked up into his saddened blue eyes, "I would like that. Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

He nodded and pulled her into another embrace, and she thought she felt a soft kiss placed on top of her head. The thought made her smile a little.

"I'll come tomorrow. I can escort you." He promised gently, and began to stand from the sofa. “But it’s late, and I should be going.”

Padmé caught his hand to stop him. “It is late,” She agreed. “And tonight has not been easy for either of us. I can’t imagine it would get easier for you now if you went back to the temple.”

Obi-Wan grimaced at the thought, surely imagining the council and the questions they still must have.

“Stay here,” Padmé said before she could really think about it. It just seemed better to have him there, rather than be alone. “Just for tonight. You can go back to the temple and face responsibility in the morning, after some rest.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose-”

“Nonsense,” Stubbornness found its way into Padmé’s resolve, the way it often did once she’d made a decision. “No one will be better off for you leaving now. I’ll have someone set up a guest room for you.”

“Padmé-”

“Obi-Wan, please.” She nearly begged. She didn’t know why this was so important to her, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being alone again. Even just to have him a room away would be better. “Just tonight.”

He looked at her carefully, and she wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he must’ve found it, because he nodded. “Alright.”

When the guest room had been prepared, Padmé started for her own room, but stopped just before going through the door. She turned to face Obi-Wan, who had spun around at hearing her pause. A million thoughts flew through her head, from simple to cruel to ridiculous.

“Goodnight, Obi-Wan.” She finally settled on. “Sleep well.”

She didn’t imagine either of them would, but he nodded with a small, sad smile and a: “You as well, Padmé. Goodnight.”

She didn’t sleep. Not right away, at least. She laid in her bed and thought about… _everything_. After sleep had eluded her for another hour or so, she dug around, found old holorecordings of Anakin; sent to her or taken in the apartment. And he was there. Anakin: smiling, laughing, saying her name.

She let herself cry more and laugh where it was appropriate. And when the rising sun lightened the sky outside her window, Padmé finally let sleep wash over her, and welcomed the oblivion it brought with.

* * *

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Ahsoka Tano didn’t sleep, even when the sun rose. She floated through the night, and then the morning, legs carrying her from one side of the Jedi temple to the other until she wasn’t sure if the odd blurring disconnect with everything around her was exhaustion or some inherent quality the world had gained the previous night. Whatever it was, it left her disoriented, like everything had been shifted a few inches to the side and now she was left running into walls and slipping off edges of walkways.

When the sun crept high enough on the horizon, its light creating black, hulking silhouettes of the buildings of the city, and other Jedi began to move through the halls, Ahsoka retreated, not wanting to speak with anyone, not sure she could bring herself to form words. She’d found a nook by a window on one of the higher floors a few years ago, when she and other initiates had killed time by exploring every crevasse of the temple. She’d been smaller then, and now it cramped her slightly, but the ground beneath her stabilized a bit as she was forced to draw her knees up below her chin and wrap her arms around them to fit.

She sat there for longer than she knew, watching the shadows outside the window shrink with the sun’s movement overhead, then lengthen again. It was both comforting and sinister to see the progress, how moment to moment, there was no marked change, but over what must have been hours, inches were devoured by shadows until they were new, bigger and consuming.

Ahsoka wished all changes happened like this. Like, as long as you paid attention, things would seem to remain how they were, enough so that by the time you realized nothing was the same, it felt like that was the way it had always been.

She might have slipped in and out of sleep a few times, but if she had, she didn’t know where unconsciousness began or where it ended, or even if it had ended. Maybe that was it. She had fallen asleep somewhere and all of this was some nightmare, and she’d wake to Anakin shaking her, telling her they needed to head out for their next mission. Nightmares didn’t generally go on for so long, didn’t tend to stick around after the initial horror, but here she was, stuck in a dream of the monotonous normalcy that came after tragedy. She wanted to wake up.

The shadows outside were stretched almost as far as they had been that morning by the time she was finally approached. She wondered if they’d been looking for her all day, or if they’d just let her be until now.

“Little Soka?” It was Master Plo’s voice, and Ahsoka lowered her head to rest on her knees, wanting to block out everything.

She really would like to wake up now.

“Little Soka, it is time to go.” The buzz of his voice through his breathing mask was comfortingly familiar, but after so long sitting in silence, the sound stabbed at her head, and she felt a wave of nausea roll through her. She didn’t answer until the bile had left her throat.

“Go where?” Her voice came out hoarse, and she hated it. She shouldn’t feel so affected by a dream. She would wake up and everything would be normal, so the least she could do in the meantime was act like everything was fine, because it would be.

“The funeral is soon, and we should be there on time.”

She could feel him in the Force, felt the tint of sadness and regret, felt him trying to reach out and soothe her. She shut it down immediately.

That was one way Ahsoka knew that none of this was real. The Force was all wrong. Where Anakin and his bond with her usually hummed, flowed with whatever emotion he wasn’t keeping down, now it felt like a river being dammed, everything from her end building up pressure and threatening to explode. Even the Force surrounding them was murky, wrong. She wanted to wake up, wanted the Force to feel clear and sharp again, wanted to feel affection echo from Anakin’s side of the bond as she made a joke at Obi-Wan’s expense and wanted send her own pulse of it back.

“Ahsoka?” Master Plo’s voice cut through her thoughts again, and she uncurled her limbs, emerging slowly.

Her muscles ached and stretched. She hadn’t felt them at all during the day, but now she was moving again, she heard her body protest the position she’d been in for so long.

Master Plo was seated on the window ledge, and once she slid next to him, her feet dangling to the floor, he handed her water and a ration bar. It took her a moment to realize what he wanted her to do with them, to take them into her own hands, and even then she just stared for a while, trying to imagine herself doing as something as banal as eating right now.

She did take a sip of the water and was surprised at how incredible it felt, how dry her mouth had gone and how much she hadn’t cared until given a chance to fix it. The ration bar sat untouched, nausea rearing its head again every time she even considered opening it. She ended up tucking it into a pouch on her belt, felt Master Plo’s concerned gaze on her as she kept her own eyes fixed on the floor in front of them.

“Are you ready to go?” He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. She wondered what would happen if she said no, if she refused to go to a funeral for her Master when she was just going to wake up soon and find that none of this had happened. She didn’t have enough energy to cause a problem, though, and just nodded her head, slipping down to the floor and trying to hide how weak her legs felt beneath her.

Their footsteps echoed in the halls as they made their way through the Temple, side by side.

The funeral itself passed by in a blur. Master Yoda spoke. She could not recall a word of what he’d said. An indistinct form, covered in brown fabric, lay in the center of it all, and Ahsoka forced her eyes away, made herself look at the people around it instead.

Padmé was there, her gown dark and simple, hair pinned up. She stood regal as always, but tears had welled in her eyes, and she looked tired, one hand clutching at Obi-Wan’s elbow where he stood beside her. The hood of Obi-Wan’s cloak shadowed his face, but his eyes were heavily lidded and mouth twisted with an unbearable melancholy that only deepened in the Force around him.

Ahsoka felt distant from it all, like it were some holo she were watching, not in the same room as her.

The platform in the center sank down into the floor, was enclosed, and burst with brilliant light. Ahsoka let herself stare at it, not caring that it burnt at her eyes. It was beautiful, in a way, that something so lovely could come from something so awful

Ahsoka didn’t want beauty from terrible things. Ahsoka wanted to wake up.

 

* * *

 

Anakin looked into the mirror on the wall, turning his head this way and that to take in the new planes and angles of his face, inked pattern snaking its way across the features. Rako Hardeen was not a good looking man, head shaven and nose crooked, and Anakin felt an odd vertigo watching the unfamiliar face move with him, to not see the scar over his eye. It was still there, in a way -- he could run his finger over it and feel where the skin changed to collagen, see the slightly lighter color, but he was actually looking for it. To an outside eye, it would barely be noticable, could easily be explained away even if it was pointed out. He reached up to touch with his mechanical hand and received another jolt of shock as he remembered it was now covered in synth-skin.

Anakin Skywalker was unrecognizable as himself, which was perfect for the plan, but that didn’t mean he liked it. A scowl tugged at his face, and Anakin was just glad that it looked natural enough with the face and fit with the persona he’d be playing. He didn’t think he’d be able to get rid of the expression any more than he could get rid of the distaste for the plan that put it there.

His funeral was happening somewhere a few floors above him, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out with the Force, find Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and Padmé, and if not comfort them, at least _know_ what was going through their heads. Even just knowing how they were would settle some of his own anxieties, but that would require him to open up their bonds again, would make everything that had already happened pointless.

Everything about the situation seemed designed to go against every instinct he had.

“Skywalker,” Mace Windu said from behind him. “We need to go soon. We’ll be sending Kenobi after Hardeen within the next few hours.”

Anakin fisted his hands and his sides and said nothing, but nodded sharply.

Mace looked irritated, like he was about to admonish Anakin for letting emotions get to him, but something shifted, and something almost like sympathy crossed his face. “Get through this part, Skywalker. The rest will be easier. You’ll just have to fool strangers.”

Mace had just been at his funeral, Anakin realized, and even if he’d known it wasn’t real, that didn’t mean other people did. Mace had just been exposed to every reaction in that room, and it had been enough to make him want to offer even a little comfort to Anakin. For the first time, Anakin was glad he was blocking his Force bonds.

He nodded again, not as sharply, and pulled his hood up to hide his face.

 

* * *

 

“No.” Obi-Wan snapped, and he felt the other Masters’ eyes on him. He knew his voice had lost any semblance of its usual calm, that this, now, was a push too far. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to recollect himself, trying to dislodge the image of Anakin’s shroud from his mind. “Send someone else. I cannot trust myself with this mission.”

“Obi-Wan,” Shaak Ti sighed, reaching out to touch his hand. “We need you, as a member of the council, to take care of this.”

He yanked away from the touch before he could think better of it, and shoved himself out of his seat, moving to the windows and looking out at the star-lit sky. “I can not be the Jedi you expect.” he said, knowing what it meant to admit this, knowing who he was admitting it to. Not only had he failed Anakin, now it seemed he would fail the council as well. “I’m too human right now—too emotional.”

He saw in his mind’s eye the shadowy figure of a man on the rooftops, the flashes of red as he shot. He’d noticed the blue of Anakin’s lightsaber disappear, heard a crash and Ahsoka’s cry, but he hadn’t-

Obi-Wan had chased the sniper instead of going to his Padawan. With everything they’d survived so far, the thought had never crossed his mind that this might be the thing that finally took one of them. If he’d stopped to think about it, Obi-Wan had always thought he’d be the first of them to go. He was older, for a start, and Anakin was so full of life, it seemed unthinkable for that to ever not be true. Now here Obi-Wan was, with a dead Master and a dead Padawan, and the only common factor was him. He didn’t know what that said about him, but he could infer.

If he’d given up on the chase, he’d have gotten back to Anakin and Ahsoka faster, could have gotten him back to the Temple sooner. If Obi-Wan hadn’t been so arrogant, had considered for a moment that he and Anakin weren’t invincible, he might’ve been there in time to save him.

They had been _the Team_. Together they were supposed to accomplish anything and everything thrown at them. They had been working together that night...they should have—If this time of war would take one of them, it should have been when they were separated. It should have been _him_.

Obi-Wan wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger, but for all the help he’d been, he might as well have.

And now, the council had found him. The shooter, the murderer. He’d probably gone off, bragged about a job well-done. Obi-Wan could picture it, in some cantina on the lower levels, a voice crowing out that _he’d done it; done what no other had managed_. _He’d killed Anakin Skywalker, the Hero Without Fear._

Obi-Wan felt his fists clench at his sides, felt that ugly, dark mist suffuse the Force around him the way it hadn’t since he’d been twenty-five, since he’d let the most important person in his life die. Qui-Gon had been dead, and Obi-Wan had taken responsibility for the boy who’d be the next. For Anakin. The next most important person he’d let die.

He imagined finding the man who’d killed Anakin, imagined putting his lightsaber through his chest. He imagined the look on his face, the looks on all the faces around them as Obi-Wan silently dared anyone to touch those he cared about ever again.

He felt the gazes of the council on his back, and he very carefully stopped imagining it before it became more plan than errant thought.

“That man killed my Padawan,” Obi-Wan’s voice did not shake with his anger, held no trace of tears. His voice was even and calm, even if he was not. It felt unbearably false. “If you dare send me after him, I do not guarantee that criminal’s safety. I—”

He what? What should he tell them, what _could_ he tell them, that would not destroy every bit of their trust in him? That he could feel that insidious touch of the dark side, and that he knew what it was because he’d felt it before? He could tell them that he felt anger, that he felt hatred. He could say that he’d lost part of himself.

He couldn’t say any of it. He wouldn’t lie, either.

“Masters, I will insist; Send someone—anyone else. I am not fit to make this arrest.” Shame took its seat next to the anger. The council said nothing. “I need more time to contain these emotions. To process them. I—I need to grieve.”

“Tough, these times of war are.” Yoda said, sad but determined eyes on Obi-Wan. “Relinquish these emotions to the Force, we must.”

Obi-Wan wanted to laugh, wanted to throw his bitterness and lack of mirth into the Grandmaster’s face. He remembered the same advice from years before, remembered how little use it had been in the face of such an enormity of feelings. “I didn’t get the chance to mourn properly when I lost my Master. Now it is my Padawan, and I—please, I just need time. Send someone else.”

Shaak Ti sighed and straightened up, moving to stand next to Obi-Wan, “We understand, truly,  Master Kenobi, but this man has proven to be dangerous, and we wouldn’t trust his arrest to anyone less skilled than you. If they are willing, a Master or Knight may accompany you, someone you can trust.  After that we can give you the space and time you need.”

It was something. Obi-Wan had a duty to the order. Anakin’s killer _needed_ to face justice. It would be taking action, as well; a version of avenging Anakin that aligned with his duty. It would be better than sitting at the Temple and feeling the palpable absence of him, better than trying to find Ahsoka only to have her turn and run from him again. Maybe, if he did, it would even lift just a part of this awful weight from his chest, lessen the anger that clouded his thoughts.

If a small, ugly part of him whispered that duty could fall by the wayside, that Obi-Wan could avenge Anakin in a better, more meaningful way—the way he’d done with Qui-Gon’s killer—Obi-Wan told himself he ignored it. It was not the Jedi way.

Mentally, he went over his list of closest friends in the Jedi Order, searching for one reliable, firm, and currently in the Temple.

“Luminara.” he decided out loud, knowing that there was a very slim chance this would end well.

 

* * *

 

By the time they reached the cantina the council had given as the last known location of the sniper— _Rako Hardeen_ , they’d told him the name was. It sat like poison on his tongue—Obi-Wan had not said a single word to Luminara, seated beside him.

It seemed so fundamentally wrong, to be silent on a mission. Even on the ones that required stealth and quiet, the coms channel was normally filled with near-constant chatter, from Anakin or Ahsoka or the troopers. Luminara, thankfully, seemed to recognize that now was not the time for that. It seemed wrong to be silent on a mission, but Obi-Wan didn’t think there was any universe where this mission would feel right.

Their speeder slowed to a stop about two blocks from the entrance, and Luminara placed a hand on his shoulder before he could get out.

“Obi,” She said, voice soft and calm as ever. “I have come close to losing my Padawan before. War is dangerous, and there have been a handful of times that I thought I may not have prepared her well enough. Still, I cannot begin to imagine what this feels like for you, now.”

He was thankful she had been in the temple, had agreed to come with him. He didn’t think he could do this if it had been anyone else. This was Luminara, though; the girl he’d been beside since their days in the créche, the fellow Padawan he’d thrown small waves at across hallways whenever he’d seen her. Back when he’d still been a storm of emotion and opinion and so readily thrown off balance, Luminara—Lumi—had been there with words wise beyond her years, and a temperament far more mischievous than she let anyone know. He felt very like that child again, was glad to still have her there.

“Lumi,” He couldn’t meet her gaze, but felt more grateful than he could express for her steady presence next to him. His knuckles were white and bloodless as he dug nails into his own leg. “I will admit, I do not know how I will feel facing this man. I do not know how I will react. I am not in the mind of a Jedi, now.”

“Even the best of Jedi may lose their way, on occasion.” She said, and took one of his hands in hers. “I know this, for you are among the best of us, and you are straying. I have faith that you will find your way back, though. This may be but the first stepping-stone that guides you. There will be justice as the law dictates, not as passion demands.”

They made their way over, again in silence, and Luminara entered the cantina before him, hand resting on her hilt already. Obi-Wan followed, barely resisting the urge to ignite his own, and didn’t dare let his hand drift towards where it was hanging off his hip.

 _This weapon is your life_. The phrase seemed too flippant now. He’d lost count of how many times he’d said it to Anakin, how many times Anakin had lost or damaged his saber. He’d always been a bit careless with the weapon. He’d always been a bit careless with his life.

The man who had taken that life was in this building. It wasn’t something he’d had a right to take.

Obi-Wan’s wants and needs were dizzying when it came to Rako Hardeen’s fate. Contradictions clouded his thoughts, making want and need and duty blur together. Obi-Wan’s hands shook with the need to draw his lightsaber, the fear of what he might do when he finally did.

“Is there a Rako Hardeen here?” Luminara asked the bartender, and the edge to her voice did not go unnoticed as the Anacondan pointed towards the back rooms.

Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut a moment, trying to regather his resolve and dedication to the Jedi Code, biting down on the inside of his cheek to ground himself in the moment as he moved alongside Luminara, weaving a path through the tables and chairs of the cantina.

Calm. He needed to be calm, his emotions locked away, if only for a little bit longer.

The door opened to a dark room and a barely visible figure lying down, the smell of alcohol like a foul fog in the air. Luminara’s lightsaber sprang out, casting a green glow around the room. Any calm Obi-Wan might have had disappeared.

“Rako Hardeen,” Luminara stated, authoritative and restrained and everything Obi-Wan was not. “You are under arrest for the murder of Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.”

Rako Hardeen pushed himself up to an elbow, bottle falling from his chest to clatter on the ground, and raised a hand to his head as if nursing a headache, eyes squinting at them. “Wha-?”

“He’s drunk,” Obi-Wan found himself growling, though it wasn’t truly a surprise. Before, when being given the mission, Obi-Wan’s anger had been hot, had burned him. This anger froze, turned his veins into ice and crystallized the world around him. The Force chilled him, made every movement feel clean and precise. “He’s been _celebrating_.”

He brushed past Luminara quickly, without thought, and hauled the bounty hunter to his feet, slamming him against the wall. “Are you Rako Hardeen?”

Obi-Wan had never felt sharper in his life, wondered distantly why emotion like this was forbidden when he finally saw everything with such clarity. He felt strong, in control. Obi-Wan suddenly held this man’s life in his hands the way Hardeen had held Anakin’s. Hardeen had used that grasp, had twisted until something in the galaxy broke.

The man’s head lolled around, eyes focusing and unfocusing everywhere but on Obi-Wan’s face.

“Obi-Wan.” Luminara warned. He ignored her.

Hardeen's face contorted, facial tattoo becoming nothing but an indistinct blob of ink, and he laughed. It was raspy and terrible and the world fell away. All that existed was Obi-Wan and this man who had taken everything from him, from Ahsoka and Padmé.

Obi-Wan thought of Darth Maul, of being a Padawan and the awful helplessness of watching his Master be run through on the other side of a barrier. He thought of his grief and hatred and how it had given him strength and how he had used it. He remembered the satisfaction of slicing Maul in half, of doing that one thing in the name of his Master, even if he hadn’t been able to save him.

“Are you the man who killed Anakin Skywalker?” Obi-Wan’s grip at Hardeen’s collar twisted, pressed him harder against the wall.

Obi-Wan didn’t need him to answer, knew exactly who was in front of him, but Hardeen stiffened his shoulders, seemed to steel himself for something, and answered anyway. “Kriffin’ Jedi. He didn’t even make it a challenge.”

Obi-Wan’s hand reached for his saber, was ready to cut this man in two, was ready to bring the circle to a close. He hadn’t been able to save Anakin either, but he could do this for him.

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber was not clipped to his belt. His hand grasped at air near his hip, and breath hissed from him in frustration as he spun around.

“Obi-Wan.” Luminara said again, voice hard, and his hilt in her hand.

The murderer under Obi-Wan’s hands slumped down, legs not holding him up in his inebriated state, and Obi-Wan let him fall. But anger still burned cold within him and he couldn’t help but swing his foot back, ready to watch Hardeen double over where he struck his stomach.

It didn’t get the chance to connect.

Before anything else could happen, Obi-Wan felt the sensation of being swept off his feet and into the air, felt his back collide in a harsh blow with the wall opposite. Luminara stood in the middle of the room, face impassive, arms outstretched as she pinned both him and Hardeen.

Obi-Wan’s breath had been knocked away in the impact, the icy cold rage fleeing alongside it. Luminara must have felt it, because she released him, and he dropped to his feet, then his knees as his legs gave out beneath him.

“There is no emotion, Obi-Wan,” Luminara said, her voice smooth, like soothing a child, coaxing them into meditation for the first time. “There is no death. There is the Force.”

It took a heartbeat or two before he could breathe again. Fury gone, the only thing left behind was a bone-deep exhaustion, and the hollow realization that, if only in thought, he had just betrayed everything he and the Jedi Order stood for.

It took another minute before he could even bring himself to raise his head. He watched distantly as Luminara stepped forward with cuffs, read Hardeen his rights, and otherwise proceeded in a manner befitting a Jedi. It all felt secondary, though. His mind was stuck, looping over and over again, jumping between seeing Anakin on the ground, carrying him in his arms, Obi-Wan’s leg lashing out at Hardeen.

 _I am not the Jedi I should be_ , Obi-Wan thought, but he froze as the sensation he usually associated with the small moments of precognition prodded at the Force around him. Something about this was off. Something other than himself, which was concerning in its own right.

Hardeen was staring at him, he realized, eyes unnerving and painfully blue and not moving from Obi-Wan’s face, even as Luminara cuffed his arms behind him. He looked surprisingly lucid in that moment, for how inebriated he’d been just minutes ago, and appropriately shocked. Obi-Wan might even say concerned under different circumstances, but that wasn’t right. It was likely just surprise at his actions. They were not the acts of a Jedi, after all.

Obi-Wan jerked his head down, breaking the gaze, not able to take the unease gnawing at his mind any longer. Whatever the Force had been trying to tell him, to warn him about, he wouldn’t figure it out now, not like this.

He didn’t know for sure if Hardeen stopped staring or not, but he thought he felt the lingering weight of eyes on him until Luminara finally lifted the bounty hunter from the ground, and lead him out of the room without a word further.

Time seemed unstable as Obi-Wan followed, surroundings blurring and blending together insignificantly. He knew his hands pushed him to his feet, knew his legs carried him out of the cantina and back to the speeder only a handful of paces behind Luminara, knew that he was more controlled now than he’d been before. Everything else seemed unimportant relative to these facts.

The Force did not try to warn about anything again. Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

He found himself there, sitting in their speeder’s passenger seat. It was only then, as they made their way back to the temple with the criminal restrained in the back, that the spell on the world around him broke, and the shadowy fog clouding his mind blew away. Obi-Wan let his head fall into his hands, pressed at his eyes, shame filling every inch of him as the night replayed itself.

“I’m sorry.” He said, low enough that he wasn’t sure Luminara would hear him. She looked over at him anyways, no disgust in her eyes, just the worst kind of sorrow mixed with pity. Obi-Wan looked away, wished she would do the same, if only so he never had to see that look on her face again. “I don’t know why the council sent me. I told them I shouldn’t come.”

“I think we all got what we needed from this,” She said simply. “Hardeen has been retrieved and will stand trial for his crimes. And you… You are not so full of anger now.”

He wasn’t sure she was right.

“I would have _killed_ him, Lumi.” Obi-Wan could barely fathom his own actions now, could hardly believe what he’d been so close to committing. For a time, though, back in that little cantina room, Obi-Wan had been entirely capable of fathoming it, entirely ready to commit it. That was the part that unsettled him most. He didn’t know where the rift between the two parts of him began and ended. It was possible he wouldn’t know until he’d already crossed that line again. “Without hesitation.”

“But you did not.” Luminara told him, as if that were the only truth here that mattered. “It does not do to dwell on the past, Obi-Wan. Everything there is incapable of change. Time spent considering how we might alter it is time wasted.”

Obi-Wan knew this, but he didn’t think that was something he was capable of avoiding anymore. Anakin was now exclusively part of his past. Obi-Wan still thought of Anakin. He didn’t think he would ever stop thinking of Anakin, stop thinking of how he might have acted differently that night.

Obi-Wan was more than ready to stop thinking of Rako Hardeen, however. When they reached the temple again, Obi-Wan didn’t look at the man as he was lead to a holding cell, didn’t look at him at all. There wasn’t anything more Obi-Wan could learn from him. In terms of not dwelling on the past, it was as good a place to begin as any.

Obi-Wan still thought of Anakin, though. He thought of his Padawan, and knew there was something he had to do. It was late now, but when the morning came, Obi-Wan needed to find Ahsoka.

* * *

To be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Ahsoka woke to a line of sunlight falling across her eyes, and rolled over to let the warmth of her bed swallow her whole again. Languid, idle thoughts trickled over her mind as wakefulness crept in. It was almost peaceful, up until the moment it wasn’t.

She was upright before she even realized she was moving, heart beating frantically and breaths coming in jagged pulls.

Anakin falling. Anakin’s _funeral_.

There had been soft words of condolence said to her. Master Plo’s hand had never left her arm. She remembered Master Obi-Wan trying to catch her eye, starting to make his way over before being intercepted by Master Yoda. She didn’t remember leaving, didn’t remember making her way to her room, didn’t remember falling asleep.

Had any of that actually happened? Was it a Force vision?

Ahsoka dressed and was nearly pushing the door open before she paused. She was caught halfway between desperately wanting to find the truth, wanting to see Anakin and prove that it had been some cruel trick of her unconscious mind, and desperately wanting to hide away, prevent the burn of hope from being smothered by the possible reality of the situation.

When she finally stepped into the hallway, it felt like something far more momentous than it should have.

And then she was standing outside Anakin’s room, staring at the door like it would give her all of the answers, wanting to call out to him, but afraid it might raise too much attention. She settled for a light knock.

No response came from the room, and she tried again. After all, Anakin often couldn’t be dragged from sleep by anything less than blaring alarms or crashing ships, and could easily miss something so quiet. Again, though, no response came.

“Anakin?” Ahsoka finally gave in. “Master, are you there?”

She realized she didn’t even know what time it was, and it could possibly be later in the morning than she first assumed. Anakin was probably off doing something important — talking to the council, working on ship repairs, or sparring. It made sense that he wouldn’t be here, she told herself. It _did_ make sense. She still didn’t move away from the door.

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan’s voice came from down the hallway, and then footsteps hurrying over. “What are you doing?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but couldn’t find the words. Outwardly, Obi-Wan looked no different from normal — beige robes and groomed hair — but there was something about him, his eyes or the Force around him, that came across as inexplicably wretched. His eyebrows knitted together, and he placed a hand on her shoulder as his gaze flicked to door over her head and back.

“Ahsoka, are you alright? I haven’t seen you since-”

“Master Obi-Wan.”

Her limbs felt cold despite the warm weather, and her throat was tight enough to make it painful when she swallowed. It had been a dream. It _had_ to have been a dream. She would ask, and Obi-Wan would tell her that Anakin was fine and that they had an assignment coming up. They would joke that it meant Anakin could finally stop being so grouchy. Everything would be fine.

She had to force the words up, staring at his chest to avoid his eyes. “Where - Where’s Anakin?”

Obi-Wan was silent long enough that she couldn’t help looking up at him. She hadn’t been watching while his face crumbled, but it must have, because she was looking at the rubble of an expression.

 _No_.

“We found the shooter last night,” He told her slowly, watching the realization that must’ve been showing on her face. “A bounty hunter. He’s in custody now.”

 _It wasn’t supposed to be real_.

“You said he’d be alright.” Ahsoka hadn’t quite realized just how numb she’d been until she wasn’t anymore. She’d been so detached, nothing had reached her completely, it was no wonder she hadn’t thought it was real. But now it was like she snapped back into place, like she was inhabiting every inch of her body again, and she felt a corrosive, acidic burn where before she’d been empty.

“Ahsoka-”

“You told me he’d be fine!” She cried and felt a stab of satisfaction as he drew his hand back.

Jedi weren’t supposed to get angry. Ahsoka tried to remind herself that a good Jedi would take that swirl of acid and push it away, release it to the Force. Jedi weren’t supposed to _be_ angry… but they weren’t supposed to be sad either, and there Obi-Wan was, devastated in a way she hadn’t thought was possible for him.

Maybe now wasn’t the time to be a good Jedi. Maybe this was the kind of time it was impossible to be that.

Ahsoka let the leash she’d had on her feelings go, felt like fire was coursing through her where blood was supposed to be. She wanted to scream, wanted to punch something. She settled for pushing a finger into his chest, watching him yield to it.

“You _lied_ to me.” The words dripped with venom. “You were up on the roofs, you could have helped him. You could have saved him.”

Ahsoka didn’t really know if she meant any of it, and if she did, who the words were aimed at. She knew Obi-Wan wasn’t to blame, any more than she or Anakin were. Maybe she blamed all of them; she and Obi-Wan for not protecting him, not getting him to healers quickly enough, and Anakin for getting himself killed, for leaving them. She didn’t know who she _should_ be angry with — it all felt the same, equally gratifying as it was pointless.

She wanted to be mad at Anakin, wanted to hate him. It would be much easier to hate him. If she did, she wouldn’t miss him as much, wouldn’t ache for that spot in the Force where his side of their bond should be. She did hate him for that, for being gone, but not with any real heft behind it. Hatred was wasted on the dead, it couldn’t do anything to them, so she was left with fury and contempt for the two of them left standing.

It was so much simpler to hate Obi-Wan instead.

Obi-Wan swallowed, and his voice came out painfully weak, even to her.

“I know.” He said. And that was it. He offered no excuse, no plea for forgiveness. Just a simple confession as if deep down he truly believed her accusations. It was all his fault.

It wasn’t like him. Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t make mistakes. She had never known him to make them, and to hear him confess such a thing—it felt like a whole new level of wrong added to the whole situation.

Anakin was dead and Obi-Wan was to blame by his own admittance.

It was harder to hate him when he didn’t fight back.

It was wrong on so many levels Ahsoka couldn’t even attempt to count — to comprehend. She wanted to yell, to beat her fists against Obi-Wan’s chest until everything was right again, as if _anything_ would be right again.

Obi-Wan stepped closer, and it was too much, too much all at once.

“Go away.” She demanded, squeezing her eyes shut, fists clenching by her sides. “Go away.”

“I’m sorry.” He said, gentle hand again on her shoulder in what should have been a comforting sort of weight. Her skin buzzed at the contact instead. “Please, try to forgive me. I don’t want to lose you, too.”

She just wanted him to leave, just wanted to be alone again. She wanted to go back, to stop everything from happening in the first place, and if not that, at least go back to when she could tell herself it hadn’t. But Obi-Wan was here, in front of her, a physical embodiment of truths she didn’t want to face, and she wanted him gone, wanted that reminder to go away.

“Why not? You’re good at that, aren’t you?” She felt more than saw him flinch from her words, and for the first time she regretted speaking. Things like that couldn’t be unsaid. “I can’t do this. I can’t- I’m sorry- Just please, go away.”

Ahsoka hated how childish it sounded and hated how childish she felt, hated that the words had crossed even her mind much less her lips.

When she heard nothing, she looked up to find Obi-Wan again standing before her, shock, hurt and guilt written across his face, as clear as if he’d spoken each feeling aloud. She dropped her head back down, gaze fixed on the floor beneath their feet, hating that she was the one to put that expression there.

Ahsoka didn’t know how long they stayed there, but eventually, Obi-Wan left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the corridor in quick tempo, and disappearing with the distance.

“You idiot.” She told herself, letting the wall take her weight, letting her head fall back until it hit with a dull thud. “You kriffing idiot.”

 

* * *

 

Of all the people or places he could have run to, Obi-Wan hadn't expected to find himself standing outside Padmé's apartment door again.

There were other places he could have gone, closer and simpler. He had friends in the temple, friends it would have been quicker to run to and seek comfort or advice from, like Lumi or Bant or even Quinlan.

Some traitorous part of Obi-Wan told him that he absolutely knew why he was there, though. He could have gone to someone at the temple, but in the end, they would be Jedi, act as Jedi needed to — reserved even in grief.

At the moment, Obi-Wan didn’t feel particularly stalwart enough to uphold the code the way he’d feel obliged to around them. They would be understanding, of course, but there would be pity in their eyes. Pity and an uncomfortable amount of wariness, like he were a walking cautionary tale about forming attachments, about not being able to let people go, even when they hadn’t been your Padawan for years. Obi-Wan didn’t want that now, didn’t think he could deal with that level of uncertainty from anyone but himself.

And so he ended up outside Padmé’s apartment again, not really having thought about where he was going until suddenly he was there, hand poised to ring the bell that would alert his presence.

It did make a sort of sense, really, that this was where he’d come. When he’d been there after the attack — had it really been just two nights ago? — and told Padmé what had happened, it had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done. It had also been more of a comfort than any number of condolences had been, than any attempt to release everything to the Force had been.

He had sat with her, felt the love and anguish melt into the Force around her, known he wasn’t alone in either feeling, and he hadn’t made himself push any of it away. He’d been awash in more emotion than he had in years, and somehow, in a backwards sort of way, with tears on his cheeks, he’d been more at peace than he had been in longer than he could remember.

So, yes, it made a kind of sense that, now, with Ahsoka’s voice still stinging every inch of him, her words still playing over and over in his mind, that he’d find himself back at Padmé’s door.

With a defeated sigh, he rang the bell, and rested his forehead against the cool surface of the durasteel panel, not caring in the least when the door suddenly slid open, rubbing his skin into a red, irritated mark next to his hairline.

Obi-Wan looked up at the young woman who had answered the door. One of the Senator's handmaidens, no doubt, though he couldn’t remember her name. He parted his lips to speak, sound not coming out, but the young woman smiled up at him kindly, must have recognized him, and let him enter.

As he stepped through the door, movement further into the apartment caught his eye: Padmé, dressed in what could only have been one of Anakin's shirts, and a pair of loose-fitting slacks. In her hand was a cup of tea—calming tea from the smell of it. The handmaiden stepped into the room before him, announced his presence, and it struck Obi-Wan suddenly that he might be the last person Padmé wanted to see, had she taken a similar mindset to Ahsoka since the funeral.

"Apologies I just—I mean, I didn't know where else to—I can go if I'm unwelcome.”

“Obi-Wan.” Padmé said, and something in her shoulders loosened. “No, of course not. Come in. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thank you.” he replied, almost mechanically. It seemed like something someone was supposed to say after a statement like that. Obi-Wan had never had many acquaintances outside of the Order, wasn’t well versed in the etiquette of unofficial visits. Padmé didn’t seem to find anything wrong with it, though, and even if she had, she didn’t strike a very intimidating figure, hair plaited simply, shirt hanging loose off her shoulders, and dark circles beneath her eyes. It was not a state Obi-Wan was accustomed to seeing her in. “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t quite think I am, to be honest.” She told him with a frankness he envied, and smiled, though none of it reached her eyes. She gestured for him to sit on the couch across from her, and he obliged, grateful to be off his feet. “And what of you, Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan dragged a hand over his face, considering how to best respond. “We apprehended Rako Hardeen last night.”

Padmé considered this information, bringing the mug of tea to her lips, cradled in both hands. “And he’s the one that…”

“Yes.” He said simply, neither one of them wanting to voice more than they had to.

“That’s a good thing, then.” As if either of them took any degree of comfort from it. A beat of silence hung in the air before she continued.“You just told me something that happened, not how you are.”

“I’m fine.” He told her without thinking, though they both knew it for the lie it was. The way he’d arrived was enough evidence to counter it in itself. He tried to distract from how feeble an attempt it was. “I was glad to see you were here. I thought you might be at the Senate building.”

Padmé looked down at herself, taking in the large, wrinkled shirt, simple pants, and bare feet. It was quite clear she hadn’t been outside her apartment that day.

“The Senate might be under the impression that I’ve come down with an unfortunate case of Corellian Tanamen fever after meeting with one of their delegations last week.” She admitted. “I would ask you not to dispel the notion. I don’t think I’m ready to go back yet, to be presentable and act as though nothing has happened.”

“Of course.” He agreed, understanding the urge, the need to leave responsibility to the side, if only for a short time.

“Sabé is acting in my proxy for any votes that require me to be in the building,” She said. If nothing else, it filled the silence, and Obi-Wan found himself grateful for the innocuous bit of information. “And I’m doing the rest of my work from here at the moment. It’s nice, in a way. Keeps my mind occupied.”

“It’s good to keep busy.” Obi-Wan agreed, “To focus on something else. I’ve…”

Obi-Wan was decidedly not focusing on something else, as his mind continually jumped back to Ahsoka. Her words struck his heart all over again and he forgot to keep up appearances, falling silent and losing his words, the link of them together, even as he was saying them.

Padmé watched all of this with shrewd brown eyes, considering, and moved to pour a second cup of tea before pressing it into Obi-Wan’s hands. It was a testament to her past as royalty that she managed to make it more of a command than invitation without having spoken a single word. He obliged eventually, taking a sip of the hot drink, and she gave a small, pleased nod as she curled back up with her own.

Silence fell over them like a blanket — warm, but threatening to smother. Padmé, with her feet tucked up beneath her did not seem inclined to be the first to break it as she watched him carefully over the lip of her mug.

“It’s Ahsoka.” He finally said, thinking of her in the hallway outside of Anakin’s rooms, how lost she’d looked when he’d first seen her, and then the cutting edge of her anger. “She blames me.”

Padmé didn’t respond for the longest time, simply moved her gaze from him to the window, and the buzzing traffic of speeders against the skyline outside. Obi-Wan was just beginning to wonder if she’d heard him when she spoke, “She doesn’t blame you.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “You misunderstand. She made her feelings on the matter quite clear.”

“She doesn’t blame you,” Padmé repeated, turning to look at him now, eyes boring into him. There were times Obi-Wan almost thought that Padmé must be Force sensitive, for how she seemed to be able to bypass a person’s exterior and peer right into the very essence of them. He felt unusually exposed underneath her scrutiny. “She blames herself.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but stare at her, wondering how she’d come to that conclusion. Padmé hadn’t even been around Ahsoka since the funeral, as far as he knew. Did she think Ahsoka was responsible somehow? “Why do you say that? It wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t have done anything.”

“I say that because you blame yourself for it, too.” She said it like it were a simple truth, like she’d plucked the thought straight from his head.

“Padmé, I-“

“I blamed myself, for a while.” She cut him off, looking back outside as she recalled something. “After you told me what had happened. I laid in bed for the longest time, thinking about all the ways I could have stopped it.

“Maybe if he’d been here before, been taking a different route to the temple. Or maybe if I’d called him before and delayed everything by just a few minutes, he would have been in a different position, would have had a better chance. Or, stars, even if I’d just-“ Padmé gestured aimlessly in the air, trying to find the words, emotion welling up to color her voice, “-told him to _be careful_ before he’d left the last time I saw him, maybe he would have listened and been safe.”

Obi-Wan had gone over similar situations in his head in the days since. If he’d just been quicker, if he’d just thought a bit more, if he’d just known better, everything could have been fine. Part of the reason Ahsoka’s words had cut so deep was because she’d just been voicing everything he’d kept locked up in his head since that night.

“Maybe if he’d just left the Order when we got married,” Padmé said, an odd twist of acerbic and wistful. “None of this would have happened.”

He didn’t really enjoy the thought of that last possibility, but if Anakin were alive in it, and happy, Obi-Wan thought even that would have been an outcome he could have resigned himself to. Padmé’s hands bunched up the fabric of her shirt – Anakin’s shirt – and she breathed, collecting herself before continuing.

“See, I’m still here being ridiculous, thinking that if I’d just done something small, changed one little thing, everything would have turned out well.”

“Padmé, you couldn’t have affected anything.” This, at least, was something he could be certain of. “You’re not responsible for this.”

“No, I’m not.” She agreed blithely, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. “I _know_ I’m not. I’m no more responsible for this than you or Ahsoka are. That doesn’t mean I don’t still feel a little at fault for it. And I wasn’t even there, so I can only imagine what kind of scenarios have been playing out in your minds.”

Padmé reached forward, took one of Obi-Wan’s hands in hers, rubbed anxiously at his fingers in what seemed more a habit than an actual conscious movement. “You blame yourself, Ahsoka blames herself. It’s just easier for her to pretend she doesn’t, and you are her unfortunately convenient out.”

“What do I do, then?” He’d never felt at such a loss to fix something before.

For all his faults as a Master, Anakin’s relationship with Ahsoka, after their rocky beginnings, had been effortless as it was strong. It was obvious to anyone who had taken the time to look that he’d loved her, how she’d challenged him, and how she’d absolutely glowed under the soft words of praise Anakin offered her, and the affectionate nickname he’d throw onto the end of his sentences. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that they’d doted on each other.

Ahsoka respected Obi-Wan, enjoyed being around him and the verbal jabs they could both aim at her Master. Obi-Wan wasn’t Anakin, though, and he would never be Anakin, or anything close in Ahsoka’s eyes. He had been okay with that, he hadn’t been her Master after all, but now it just made everything more complicated.

If it had been Obi-Wan to fall that night, she wouldn’t have reacted this way, he was sure. Ahsoka was passionate and caring, and she would have been upset by it. She would have been saddened, but not like this. Not to this degree.

If it had been Obi-Wan to fall that night, Anakin would have known how to handle Ahsoka. He would’ve known the actions or words that were needed to bridge the gap between them and offer comfort. They would have been fine, in the end. That was not the way it had gone, though, and so Obi-Wan was left sitting there, without even the beginnings of an idea as to how he should try to make things right with her.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but think again, as he had innumerable times over the past two nights, that it should have been him at the end of that blaster. Everything would have been better that way.

Padmé wasn’t close to him at all. She’d have been there to comfort Anakin, and Anakin could have comforted Ahsoka in turn. The people in Anakin’s life, the connections he’d had with them, reached wider and deeper than those Obi-Wan had with others, those that he’d allowed himself in the face of the Code. Fewer things — fewer people — would have been left broken by Obi-Wan’s absence.

“She doesn’t want to see me,” He said, pinching at the bridge of his nose, trying to clear away useless regrets and reimaginings of past events. “She doesn’t want to be around me at all.”

“Of course she does.” Padmé’s brows furrowed. “She might not realize it, but then again, you Jedi are rather slow with this sort of thing.”

Obi-Wan felt his mouth quirk up involuntarily at the gentle tease, but it quickly fell back into concern. He shouldn’t have left the Temple as suddenly as he had, shouldn’t have left Ahsoka on her own, no matter what she’d said. “I don’t know what to do.”

“She’s scared, Obi-Wan. It’s as simple as that.” Padmé said softly, hands still wrapped around his own. “She’s upset about having lost someone she cared about, scared about what it means for the future. Scared that it might happen again.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it’s how I feel right now.” Padmé sighed, intertwining their fingers, and giving his a comforting squeeze. “And I have more experience with this kind of situation than she does. She needs you right now.”

Obi-Wan thought he might be starting to catch on, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask her if she knew that because it was how she felt as well. He couldn’t bring himself to form the words, _does that mean you need me, too_?

Instead, he said only, with all the eloquence befitting the title of Negotiator: “What?”

“I think,” She smiled at him sadly, knowing, as if she heard the unspoken question, and this time both the sorrow and affection did reach her eyes, making them crinkle softly at the corners. “That we all need each other right now, Obi-Wan, in whatever capacity we’re able to give. Firstly, though, I think you should go find her. She needs you more than I do.”

“And what about you?” He asked.

“I need you both to be okay,” Padmé said. “Start there, and we’ll see.”

It seemed like a reasonable enough place to begin, so Obi-Wan stood up, carefully letting his hands fall away from Padmé’s, and, as they said their goodbyes and he made to leave, Obi-Wan reached out into the Force to find Ahsoka again.

 

* * *

 

The entirety of a rather expensive tea set flew across the room and shattered against the wall, the pieces falling to the ground with the satisfying, twinkling crack of something fragile breaking under his ministrations. Palpatine looked at where the pieces lay, scattered on the floor below, and bared his teeth as they again flew through the air, impaling themselves into the wall.

He imagined the bodies of the Jedi Council in the places they landed, pictured the pieces of pottery crucifying the cretins against the walls of the Senate, pinning them where inhabitants of the building would walk by without a second thought or glance spared for the weak fools.

Palpatine sent them careening across the room. Then again, and again, and again, watching as they broke apart further and further. Soon, he’d be left with nothing but porcelain dust and large, savage gouges in the walls of his office, but the exercise helped sate the urge to destroy everything in his vicinity, the desire to choke the life from the nearest living beings and watch the light fade from their eyes.

The tea set was nonexistent far too quickly for his liking, and didn’t assuage the impulse to raze everything to the ground nearly as much as was preferable. It was enough for the moment, though. Palpatine let his breathing calm, ran a hand over his head to smooth down the white hair that had come unkempt in his rage.

The last few days’ headlines still made his blood boil, made his lip curl in disgust, and it had finally become too much to push behind the mask of the kindly, old Chancellor. For the first time since before he'd killed his own master in his sleep, he’d let his calm mask begin to slip as the Force boiled around him. He’d wanted to lash out, wanted to shatter the window and bring the building crashing down at his feet.

Palpatine breathed again, pushing the tide of the Force back down. It wouldn’t do to reveal himself yet. So much patience and planning had gone into getting him to this place, it would be such a waste to let it be dragged away by an unexpected setback, regardless of the magnitude.

He let his fury simmer and churn, but kept it contained. Control didn’t come naturally to the Sith, but Palpatine had not come this far by following the easiest path, by blindly following instinct and impulse.

Years of scheming, plotting, years of _grooming_ his would-be apprentice, wasted. The very thought set his teeth grinding, made his jaw ache as he clenched it.

Rako Hardeen had ruined everything. The filthy lowlife could have killed Kenobi or Tano just as easily. It would have been simpler, would have pushed Anakin even closer to the point of tipping, would have fit nicely into Palpatine’s plans. But to lose Anakin?

A change of plans was needed. He needed to salvage what he could and forge a new path to power and the end of the Jedi. Palpatine was entirely capable of such things, no matter the circumstances he was given.

There had always been a chance that Anakin would die somewhere in the war. Palpatine was a careful man, had contingency upon contingency. Something as simple as this would not be the end of him.

It wasn’t the optimal course of events, certainly, but he could use it, could twist and mold it to fit his purpose in place of the boy. Stories were more malleable than people, after all. This could be almost good in a way, in fact. No more time need be wasted corralling a foolish youth from his owners.

Palpatine felt a laugh bubble up in his chest, and did not bother to keep it quelled. He let it build into a cackle, safe in the knowledge that no one would hear, or that even if they did, he was surrounded by enough imbeciles that it could be explained away one way or another.

There would be no more wasting time. From a certain point of view, this turn of events was merely a complication being removed from his path, an obstruction cleared away. The galaxy was nearly as good as his; it moved like a marionette beneath his fingers, at his whims. Palpatine was more than ready to show everyone where their strings were, once he was satisfied they couldn’t be cut.

* * *

To be continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Ahsoka gathered enough of herself to eventually push away from the wall at her back, and move into the dark room that had belonged to her Master.

From the first step inside, everything was wrong. Nothing was obviously different from how it should be, but some finger had been pressed to one side of an invisible scale that left everything tilted and off balance. It was like she was looking at the room through a lens slightly distorted, and she could recognize everything around her as it was, but knew at the same time that it wasn’t existing the way it should be.

The room was too empty, maybe — though it contained just as many trinkets and gadgets as it ever had. Perhaps it was just that she’d never actually been in there without Anakin present, and the absence of another person made the room seem to stretch on forever with unoccupied space.

Or it was too cold. Anakin had always kept his rooms warm. _When you grow up in the desert, you never really leave_ , he’d told her once, and always kept his rooms just a few degrees above the rest of the temple. Not nearly the scorchingly dry heat of his home planet, but enough that it didn’t leave a chill on his skin like the rest of the galaxy seemed to.

Now, the air was the same, tepid swirl that had been in the hallway. It felt cold to her now though, and Ahsoka hugged her arms to her chest, warding off the icy bite that wasn’t really there.

Droid parts and tools were still scattered across Anakin’s work bench as if he’d just hurried off to do something and he’d planned on being right back to finish—whatever it had been he was working on.

Maybe an upgrade for Artoo that the astro droid would now never receive, and that caused Ahsoka’s thoughts to wander briefly to him, if he knew, and how he might be handling it. Could droids feel grief the way organic beings could? If any could, it would be Artoo for Anakin, surely.

Anakin’s bed was made up lazily and without care. Whenever she or Obi-Wan had brought it up before, he’d claimed that there was no point in making it up nice when it’d only get messed up again come nightfall. She used to straighten it whenever she came in, tuck sheets and blankets in extra tight just to bother him.

She couldn’t bring herself to touch the blankets now.

She wanted Anakin here, wanted to act disgusted at the disorder around her, wanted to say;

_Stars, Skyguy, did ‘being neat’ not exist on your planet, or are you the exception?_

She wanted to see him grin, to rib back at her with some response she couldn’t even begin to imagine, wanted to push the boundaries between them, but there was nothing to stretch or shove at any more.

Everything in the room was as it should be, as she always remembered it to be, besides the temperature. The lack of warmth was haunting and infuriatingly appropriate; the cold touch taking everything that was Anakin from the places that were his.

Her muscles were coiled with the anger that she’d aimed at Obi-Wan before — it hadn’t gone anywhere but inwards since. She could make beds, could find astromech droids, could program the room to be a few degrees warmer, could make dumb jokes to imaginary versions of him, and none of it would mean anything.

No amount of wishing or doing could change things that had already happened, and it left her with nothing but the distasteful mix of helplessness and the desperate denial of being helpless, because she had to be able to do _something_ , right? If she couldn’t do something to make things right, to make them better, what was the point? Obi-Wan thought things through, but she’d always been more like Anakin. She and Anakin looked at situations, and _acted_.

Every inch of her burned with the need to act, to fight some foe or rescue someone in need, or… _anything_ , really. Because that’s what they _did_ , and she needed to be able to do something more than stand there aimless, alone, and _helpless_.

Her arm lashed out and her fist slammed into one of the walls before she could think; before she could stop herself. She didn’t know if she would have stopped herself anyways.

Pain burst through the knuckles. It still felt better than standing still, being idle with her thoughts swimming around and nothing to show for them.

She sank onto the bed, feeling her hand throb and not caring. Let it throb, let it ache and tingle unpleasantly. It was a distraction.

Time ticked by uncounted before finally she opened up a datapad that was on the bedside table and scrolled through the newsfeed, every headline piercing her through.

 _Hero Without Fear, Dead_  
_Anakin Skywalker Killed in Attack_  
_Trial set for Jedi Killer Rako Hardeen_  
_Jedi Knight Skywalker Murdered_

The words flashed in front of her eyes, the newsfeeds rang in her ears, and time blurred behind the words. It passed. Or maybe it didn’t. She didn’t know, but the numbers at the top of the datapad kept changing, so it must have been.

Scrolling through the holonet, reading articles and posts and seeing the galaxy’s reaction to Anakin’s death had been a bad idea, and she should have known better.

There were obituaries and epitaphs, old holoclips showing him fighting or giving speeches. They had captions, both in Basic and in all varieties of alien language, and she knew enough to get a grasp of what they were saying.

Words of grief. Words of shock and horror and mourning. There was disbelief and sorrow in equal measure, and all they did was make the back of Ahsoka’s eyes burn. It was like they were mocking her, like they were peering in on her frustration and the horrible emptiness on the other side of her bond, and they were parodying, making crude shadows of her own feelings.

What right did they have to any of this? They hadn’t known Anakin as anything more than a face on their datapad. They only knew _of_ him. They’d watched him from afar, safe in their homes while he had been out in the danger of battle day in and day out, and Ahsoka had been the one by his side, not any of them.

Anakin wasn’t theirs. None of them had stood by Anakin’s bedside while he was healing from an injury, or had him stand watch over theirs while they recovered. None of them had stood at his back, made jokes to cover up the fact that they knew odds were stacking against them, or made more when they eventually made it to safety. None of them had saved him and had him smile up at them with a _Took you long enough, Snips_ — the kind she knew always meant he was saying _I knew you’d come_.

None of them knew what it was like to realize that she _had_ taken too long, at last, that his faith in her had finally been misplaced. And yet, droves of nameless, faceless declarations stared up at her from the screen, crying out as if this were a loss for any of them beyond the fact that he’d no longer be throwing himself into harms way on their behalves.

Anakin had been _her_ Master. He belonged to her, to Obi-Wan, to those who had a place in his heart and had given him a place in theirs. These people did not get to claim him.

 _About time_ , a comment on a more recent article read. _Too bad they already got to the guy who did it, I’d buy him a drink.  
I agree,_ some other commenter's responded, _I’d like to see the lot of them taken out._

Ahsoka slammed the pad down onto the pillow next to her and held her head in her hands as she took slow, shaky breaths to try and calm herself. She wasn’t able to help herself. Ahsoka’s head buzzed with everything she had read, with her own thoughts, and the only thing she knew for sure was that she needed to get out of the temple. She needed to just… not be there anymore.

A path formed in her mind, somewhere far from the sterile serenity of the halls around her, and into the buzzing liveliness of the city-planet.

A change of scenery was always good for the wary mind, right? She was sure she had heard that somewhere before. Maybe from Master Yoda—or Yaddle? Someone wise, she was sure. She needed to calm herself, needed to collect herself and remember what a proper Jedi would do, but she needed to get out of the Temple to do so — out of her Master’s rooms and anywhere that she could be reminded of him. She needed the hum of speeders overhead, filled with people going about their lives, and the hum of conversation about things that didn’t pertain to her.

Ahsoka made her way down the front steps of the Temple, finding a sort of comfort in the rhythm of her feet, and then further and further into the surrounding city.

The buildings around her grew taller, stretching further and further into the air, like she were walking into the depths of an ocean, and the surface was straying more beyond her reach with every step. She could almost feel the pressure of it, the tons of atmosphere pressing down on her, on her lungs in her chest, like water.

She reached the edge of the level far too soon, stood there for minute, uncertain, before she sat with her feet dangling over the ledge.

She let herself be overcome with the swooping, instinctual panic of being suspended over a height, let it curl her toes and snake its way up into her chest and arms. When it finally became almost too much to bear, she propelled herself forward, dropping a few stories in the space of a blink — just letting herself feel the gut-twisting sensation of falling — until she reached out into the Force to catch herself at the last moment.

She landed somewhere in the 3000 levels, maybe, but couldn’t bring herself to care enough to find out which level she was actually on. It didn’t really matter, in the end — just that she found a crowd and could disappear into it; become just another face for a bit, another person observing it all from the outside.

She stumbled into one, following a mass of voices into a market that was relatively busy, the day being nice out, and on a high enough level that the goods and services being sold were only bordering on seedy. It was comforting, in its own way. No one looked twice at her, the brown cloak she’d thrown over her shoulders allowing her to blend in.

She paused by a stand with spare droid parts, let her fingers run over them, let the familiar smell of oil and metal wash over her senses, and her thoughts drifted again to-

“Anakin…”

Her head whipped around, the bolt in her hand falling back to the pile below with a _clank_ , but the voice had already slid back into the jumble of sound in the air.

“-Skywalker-” Came another from behind her, and again she spun to try and catch a glimpse of who was speaking. She couldn’t tell as countless people passed in front of her.

“I still can’t _believe_ -”

Ahsoka walked away brusquely, now not a single glance thrown behind her, not really wanting to see the owners of the voices she heard. She moved without thought onto a booth that displayed clothing meant to fit a species that was much larger than her, and with a few more limbs.

“War effort wasn’t doing much in the first place-”

Ahsoka squeezed her eyes shut against the ache building in her head, and kept her legs moving, carrying her on and on, to anywhere that she could get away, but it seemed useless.

People everywhere were talking about Anakin, and nowhere she ran to or hid could seem to stop that.

It had only been a day since his death was publicized, one night since his funeral, and the topic had yet to run dry. Ahsoka had seen enough on the ‘net to know that before she came, but she still bristled when she heard his name on strangers’ lips. She should have known such things weren’t left to just holonet discussions.

And it was worse in person. Voices and faces attached to the words that had irritated her before, now with furrowed brows and downturned lips, and expressions they had no reason to make for a stranger. She wondered how they would react if they knew she was there. Would they turn accusing words and fingers on her? Ask her why she hadn’t saved him for them?

The longer she listened, the worse it became and the more it felt like all she heard were whispers, insinuations, cruel laughter, false sadness.

They had no right.

Her fingers twitched, and Ahsoka clenched her fists to try and stop it. She needed to leave, needed to get back to the Temple. She’d had her time away, but now that the odd bubbling under her skin was back at every mention of Anakin’s name, she knew she had made a mistake, and needed to return.

Could she not find one place in the galaxy for her mind to be quiet?

She just needed to find Obi-Wan and beg for forgiveness, or to find Barriss or someone to just be silent with and have them understand.

She needed to get herself under control.

“Huh, right,” A voice in the background pierced through the din, and Ahsoka didn’t know why her mind singled him out, his nasal voice and blasé tone, but the rest of it faded to background noise and her pulse pounded in her ears. “Wonder if the war would be over sooner if more people put a few blaster holes in the lot of ‘em. Some kriffing _nobody_ plugged Skywalker so it can’t be that hard.”

Something in Ahsoka, something that had been pulled taught over the last few days, stretching further and further until it had reached its limit — snapped with a deafening crack that only she could hear.

Before she even realized that she was moving, she had the man pressed against a wall with the side of her arm cutting into his windpipe. The Force around her felt clouded but she didn’t care. All it did was obscure any distractions from the man in front of her, frantically trying to move away from the limb, the lightsaber in her hand — not yet aimed or ignited, but still there — and the promise it clearly held.

“Say that again,” Ahsoka nearly growled, “I _dare_ you.”

Part of her barely recognized her own voice with as much vitriol as it carried, but a larger part only felt an ugly satisfaction at the waves of terror pouring off of the man. Most of the holonet — even in their false possession, their imagined grief — had been respectful, honoring Anakin and everything he’d done for the war, talked about him like the hero he was, in the way that he deserved.

But a small, vocal part of the ‘net talked like— well, like this guy here. Said the Jedi were drawing out the war, said Anakin got what was coming to him, asked only why it hadn’t happened sooner, or to one of the others.

The rough, unshaven man with crooked teeth and breath like a liquor store could have been any one of those people. In Ahsoka’s mind, he _was_ those people — the people calling for the death of Jedi, if it meant an end to fighting, the people who cheered at the news when it came, the people who put hits out in the first place.

Ahsoka’s mind, in that second, blurry and feeling the creeping fingers of something cold and seductive, translated all of this into the single, all-consuming thought: _you killed him_.

For the first time in days — days of being swept up in endless passing moments that she couldn’t seem to affect, that occurred on the other side of a window through which she could only watch — Ahsoka felt like she finally gripped something solid, like her heels had dug into the ground and she had traction again. _This_ , right here, right now, she could dictate. She was the author of these events, and they would end however she saw fit.

And then, in the next moment, it was gone. She felt a keening sort of loss as, again, control slipped from her fingers, leaving her at the mercy of whatever the galaxy and the Force willed to be so, but she was also far enough now that she wanted to recoil from the urge to reach for that control again.

She didn’t think she’d actually have hurt him, have done anything more than shake him up a bit, but the fact that she was questioning herself at all left her feeling sick and cold.

All the energy was sucked from her, and she almost collapsed back from the man, a hand firmly on her shoulder and Obi-Wan’s warm Force presence pressed against hers, somewhere between embrace and restraint. The man she’d been pinning fell from the wall as well, coughing now that his airway wasn’t blocked and glaring at her.

“Jedi scum.” The man spat at Ahsoka’s feet. She no longer felt enough of anything towards him to react, unease with her own actions having take its place. “Go back to your kriffing temple and drag the war out another year.”

“Sir,” Obi-Wan said, voice low and grip tightening on Ahsoka’s shoulder, and she ducked her head at the knowledge that he’d seen her do it, surely felt everything in the Force. “I apologize for her behavior, and I assure you, we are doing everything we can to bring an end to this conflict.”

Obi-Wan started to lead them away but the man sneered and called after them, “Of course you are. What are the Jedi without a war to fight in?”

“We’re peacekeepers,” Ahsoka said, any fight evaporated, but still feeling the need to defend the honor of the Order, her family. She wasn’t sure if she believed herself anymore, even as she said the words, but the thought of being silent sat bitterly in her mind.

“Show me where the peace is,” He said. “And I’ll believe you’re keeping it. ‘Spose Skywalker’s peaceful now. Ashes can’t fight.”

The fire lit again, drowning out her disquiet as the cold fingers drifted back across her mind. The muscles of Ahsoka’s legs coiled, ready to pounce at this man again, to make him take his words back.

The Order was one thing — he wasn’t entirely wrong, after all. Ahsoka had only been an initiate by the time war had broken out, had never gone on a mission in a time of peace —but _that was her Master_ he was talking about, not the Jedi, and if she hadn’t been able to protect him before, she would be even more worthless of a Padawan if she couldn’t protect his memory now.

The man, as if sensing he’d gone too far, reached for a holster on his leg, drew a blaster up-

And then Obi-Wan was there, between them, lightsaber deftly cleaving the thing in two, muscles in his face jumping wildly as his jaw clenched. Ahsoka thought he was done, but he stabbed the tip down, making it crackle loudly as it collided with the severed half of the blaster on the ground. The metal contorted into a molten red, twisted heap. The street around them was silent, every eye on the incandescent blue, and the man that had been talking shrank back from them.

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan deactivated the blade, returning it to his belt calmly. “I think it’s time we made our way back.”

She felt chilled, and made no objections. The return to the temple was spent in silence.

Obi-Wan led her through the halls, into his own chambers, and she followed without comment. The door slid shut behind them, and the room felt far too small, especially after the overly expansive emptiness of Anakin’s rooms.

“What were you _thinking_?” Obi-Wan broke the fragile quiet first. Ahsoka was somewhat relieved to hear more incredulity than anger.

“I’m sorry.” She wanted to apologize for it all, really. For her words earlier, for leaving the temple, for losing control, for letting Anakin get killed in the first place. It didn’t feel like enough. “I just-”

“You just attacked a civilian.”

“I wasn’t going to _hurt_ him.” She protested, and thought of the man now: his blaster, his crooked teeth, the disgusted way he’d said Anakin’s name. She regretted what she’d done, but couldn’t bring herself to feel sorry that he was going home short a blaster and probably terrified.

Her body groaned in exhaustion, ached with something not entirely physical, and she let herself fall ungracefully onto the nearest chair, aware that Obi-Wan’s eyes followed her the entire time.

“I couldn’t have known that.” He said, an unfamiliar edge to his voice, and Ahsoka barely suppressed a wince, wondering if he could sense how uncertain she was with herself.

She’d never thought herself capable of something like that, but the galaxy seemed a wholly different place than it had a handful of days ago. Lives could be snuffed from existence in a matter of seconds, regardless of how brightly they’d burned, how invincible they’d seemed.

“Why do you care?” She asked, eyes boring holes into the floor, instead of putting any of this to words, because it was simpler. After everything she’d said to him, everything she’d done, she couldn’t entirely block out the voice in her head that said Obi-Wan probably hated her now. She would deserve it if he did. She was deserving of many things, but Obi-Wan’s care and attention seemed far too precious to be among them. “I’m not your responsibility.”

“Yes, you are.” He disagreed. “You’re part of my lineage, Ahsoka. Don’t forget, your Master was my Padawan.”

Obi-Wan was standing above her, still, and he seemed to loom impossibly large. She didn’t know what to make of him right now, didn’t know how to treat him without the third part of their party to balance them out.

If Obi-Wan were to die in battle next, or even be taken away unceremoniously on the streets of Coruscant like Anakin, she didn’t know if she’d survive it. She’d continue on, become a Jedi under Master Plo, and help fight the war, but what would there be left afterwards? She’d always thought Obi-Wan infallible. She’d also never thought Anakin could be killed due to his sheer stubbornness.

She wondered if it would be easier just to push him away now, to cut him off and turn him away from the start, so that when he was lost, he wouldn’t take the important parts of her with him.

“Not like it matters,” Ahsoka practically spat, not enough spite in her to make it real, but enough desperate need to untether herself from an anchor before she was thrown overboard that it must have had the same effect. “I don’t _have_ a Master. You don’t either.”

Obi-Wan flinched a little again, and all of her resolve crumbled to dust.

Who was she to lump more hurt onto him, when he’d already carried so much? How many times had she caused that, today alone? It was unfair of her, yet there she was, again, spitting out her pain in a twisted way so that it would hurt him.

She couldn’t even say that doing so made her feel any better, so there was no point to of any of it. And she didn’t mean it; not really. To cut off Obi-Wan would be to amputate a limb, just as much as losing Anakin had gutted her. He was like a second Master to her. He’d always cared for her and helped her where Anakin could not. She looked up to him just as much as she had Anakin, so how could she push him away now when they were all that each other had?

She buried her face into her hands, driving the heels of her palms into her eyes like it would stop the burn of exhaustion.

“I could be,” Obi-Wan said, barely audible above her, and she wondered if she’d imagined it, because when she raised her head, his eyes were fixed on the window, every muscle in his body tensed, as if bracing for attack.

“What-”

Everything about Obi-Wan was usually quick and deliberate. He thought through situations enough before he acted that he didn’t have to pause before following through, and it had always made her feel like, no matter the circumstance, Obi-Wan knew what to do, had things under control.

When he moved now though, it was halting and hesitant, like he was considering everything even as he did it.

He sank gently to one knee on the ground in front of her, placing them nearly eye-to-eye, laying a hand on her shoulder in a comforting weight, and his eyes roving over her face like he was seeing her for the first time. His mouth hung open for a moment, and nothing came out for a few long seconds.

“Ahsoka Tano,” He said finally, and stopped, uncertain how to continue, like her name was the only thing he knew for sure. Ahsoka’s chest panged, because his voice was so thick with the weight of everything. They both knew what this would mean, and she wanted to throw her arms around him, to thank him almost as much as she wanted to beg him not to.

She forced down the urge to run from the room. She had done enough running from him in the past few days. Or maybe she just wasn’t sure if her legs could carry her to the door, much less anywhere beyond it.

Just a few words more and Ahsoka wouldn’t be able to run from it anymore. Just a few more words and it would become so terribly, achingly real, it would mean that Anakin wasn’t coming back, no matter what. _Your Master is dead. You let him down and he is dead. You’re no one’s Padawan._

It had been her fault, and she’d blamed Obi-Wan, yet he was still here, with these meaningful, difficult words that Ahsoka didn’t deserve.

“Ahsoka Tano,” Obi-Wan tried again, the emotion neatly pushed down, and he looked up at her, solemn as ever but oddly nervous. “I need you to know, that under no circumstances do you have to agree. I care for you. Please know that, if you decide to say no, that will not—could not possibly change. I will always be here for you, will always help you if you need it. And I know-”

“Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka filled the silence when his voice faltered again, knowing the look on his face, the tone of voice.

His expression shifted, and she took his hand from her shoulder to cradle both his hands in her lap. She didn’t know why, but the thought of Obi-Wan falling apart now centered her for a moment. The room felt more stable, chilly air prickling at her skin and she saw the deep bruised blue under his eyes. Ahsoka might have failed her own master, but she could still help his, or at the very least could stop hurting him.

Both took pause in that moment, regathering their thoughts for what they both knew was to come. And Obi-Wan was the one to break the silence again.

“Even though I am sure Master Plo would be more than happy to take you-” He took a fortifying breath. “Ahsoka Tano, I would be honored and humbled if you would agree to be my Padawan.”

He didn’t look at her, eyes fixed on her hands still holding his own between them, and Ahsoka briefly wondered what she had done wrong in some last life to be stuck with two idiots for Masters, and then wondered what she’d done right to deserve two great men like them.

The careful calm she’d gotten just a minute ago shook, fractured, began to splinter, and Ahsoka tried to keep the tears from springing to her eyes, but she couldn’t and she knew what her answer was, but didn’t want to accept all the meaning that came with it.

She had paused too long, apparently because Obi-Wan spoke up once more “I can never replace what Anakin was to you, nor do I wish to replace him, but I—”

“Yes.” she cut him off before he worked himself up into what might be a panic, though the energy it took to make the word appear broke the dam holding back everything. It shattered apart under the pressure and it didn’t take much for her to slide from the chair, down to the ground Obi-Wan knelt on, to clutch at him and bury her face into the front of his robes, the beige linen that smelled faintly of tea.

Ahsoka hadn’t cried yet, she realized with a distant sort of surprise. She hadn’t shed a tear when it happened, or the day after at the funeral, or even when she’d lashed out at Obi-Wan in her frustration. But here, and now, with the reassuring presence of Obi-Wan in front of her, she finally let herself let go of that piece of herself that she hadn’t let relax.

It was like unclenching a fist, and feeling the muscles throb as circulation returned, exhausted from being held tight for so long. She didn’t sob, and she wasn’t loud, but the pressure she hadn’t realized had built up inexorably in her head released as the tears slipped from her eyes, unobtrusive and steady. Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate to wrap one arm tightly around her, the other coming up to cup the back of her head, and she breathed in the scent of him again.

“He’s gone,” Her voice was muffled by his chest, and she wasn’t sure which one of them was shaking, but the proximity meant the tremors echoed through both of them equally. “He can’t be gone, but he is. I don’t- We were just- We were supposed to-”

“I know,” He shushed her, rocking them back and forth. “I know, I know.”

Ahsoka heard his voice crack on the words, barely noticeable, but there, because he did know, probably more than her, even.

“We were supposed to take care of each other.” The words hurt coming out, the first time she’d voiced the guilt that’d been roiling in her since it happened, and her breath hitched briefly as she had to force the breath from her chest. “I should’ve-”

“Ahsoka, no.” His arms tightened, and she was pulled in even closer to him. She felt more than heard his voice as it hummed through his chest. “This isn’t your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong. It’s the Master that protects the Padawan.”

The unspoken _so it’s my fault_ from earlier hung between them, and all Ahsoka could do was fist her hands tighter into his robes, hope that the reminder of her presence was enough. That she, at least, was there. She was afraid it didn’t mean as much as they both needed it to.

They stayed there for what felt like the entire day, the entire night, Obi-Wan rocking her like a child after a night terror, the beat of his heart steadily slowing beneath her ear. Between the gentle movement and the easy synchronicity in their breathing, it was like a type of meditation. Despite everything, the warmth of Obi-Wan soothed, and her brain told her that here, right now, she was safe, and she believed it. Ahsoka curled up into Obi-Wan’s embrace, and she let herself let go.

* * *

To be continued…


	6. Chapter 6

Rex kept his eyes fixed on his boots, flat on the ground and unmoving, despite the clamor of footsteps around him. He tried to ignore it—the organized chaos and energy of troops getting ready, moving to transports and preparing for a battle. It was familiar and routine, but foreign to be so idle in the middle of it.

He tried to ignore the fact that none of the countless brothers rushing around him, strapping on their gear and shouting orders, were any of the his fellow 501st men. He tried not to think of his own gear, and how long it might be before he was called into action again, or the possibility that even if he were, that it would be with different soldiers in a different battalion.

Rex grit his teeth, safe in the knowledge that no one would be able to see his expression if they had time enough to even look, and resisted the urge to clench his fists. Every part of him that wasn't trying to process the fact that his general was lost was achingly frustrated—with the situation, with the general for leaving them in it, and with himself for not preventing it, or knowing what to do now it had happened.

Rex closed his eyes against the rush of brothers around him, trying to also block out the innumerable possibilities that might happen from here. He needed to know, needed to figure out what he could tell his men, the best way to tell it to them.

Would they be given to another Jedi? Forced to start over from scratch trying to gain trust? Or split off and separated as they were dissolved into other legions? Would they be sent off to do shinny work as security detail for some backwater post the Separatists couldn't care less about in the war?

If anyone had decided, it hadn't been told to him yet, and he closed his eyes a little tighter at the shift of someone sitting down next to him, before opening them again to face whoever it was that wanted answers he didn't have.

"You good, Rex?" Cody said more than asked—not looking for an answer so much as letting Rex know he was watching his back. This too was familiar, and less foreign, despite the absence of helmets and coms between them.

Rex was a captain, Cody a commander: neither were able to be anything besides okay, if only for the sake of the men under them, and Rex felt the smallest weight lift from his chest, knowing the other officer would stand by him if he needed it, and stand by the 501st. If they did get split up, a least a handful would probably go to the 212th.

Not all of them would, though, Rex knew, and the weight was back like it had never left.

"Have you seen Commander Tano recently?" He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking of the younger Jedi, and letting Cody's unanswerable question slide away with nothing but acknowledgment that it had been said, and the unspoken gratitude for it.

"Everything's karked right now." Cody grimaced, leaning back and looking up at the hanger ceiling in place of a more direct response. They were soldiers, though, made and trained specifically for this war, and for the efficiency it asked of them. Things that didn't need to be said, weren't. "But she's strong, and doing better than she was, I think. General Kenobi isn't much himself, either, but he's trying."

Rex breathed out and nodded sharply. It had been a relief to hear the other general taking the commander in, but part of Rex panged at the thought of not being stationed with her anymore, at trusting her well-being to hands other than the Generals' or his own. But Cody would be there, and he wouldn't let her get hurt. Rex could trust that much.

He stared down at his hands for a moment, looking at the creases of his palms, and realized that she might be better off protected by someone other than him. Rex's track record wasn't what it had been even a few days ago.

"General Kenobi is going to petition the Senate." Cody said, not looking at Rex, but sharp eyes cataloguing the last few stragglers jogging by to join the rest of their troops for whatever mission they were being sent off on. "Trying to get the 501st merged with the 212th."

Rex wasn't sure he could believe it. It seemed impossible that everything might turn out that well. No men would be separated, shipped out with unfamiliar companies. They wouldn't have another situation like Krell, or some other Jedi who was a stranger to them.

"He'll have quite the battle with it. They won't like the idea of doubling the amount of men under his command." Cody continued, obviously not wanting to give out false hope, but Rex knew Cody well enough to know that he believed his general would be capable of it. Rex himself knew General Kenobi well enough to not doubt him.

"General Kenobi would…be a comfort to us." A knot in Rex's chest untied. "The others and I trust him. We trust you."

"We'd welcome you." Cody said, reaching over to clap a comforting hand on Rex's shoulder as he stood up. "Brothers."

"Brothers." Rex repeated, and for the first time in days, the small smile that spread across his face—relief and happiness mixed together—was entirely real.

 

* * *

 

"None of our intel said Cad Bane was involved." Mace Windu's voice crackled softly through the com, not quite managing to mask the irritation at this added variable.

"Yeah, well," Anakin grimaced, both at the mention of the Duros, and the still-strange sensation of speaking and having someone else's voice come out. "I wish he wasn't here, too, but your intel now is telling you that he is and he hasn't left Moralo Eval's shadow in the last week."

 _And he's an enormous pain in the ass_ , Anakin only barely managed to not say.

"You've managed to make contact, then?"

Anakin had to take a breath and deliberately release the mix of frustration and shame that was curling in his chest into the Force before he mumbled a " _No_."

"Skywalker," Mace said in that very Mace-Windu-specific tone of voice that made Anakin feel like he was still nine years old, encircled by the council of older, powerful Jedi discussing whether or not he was worthy enough to be one of them. The answer from Mace always seemed to be in the negative, and now was no different. "I will remind you how important it is to the Republic that you do not fail this mission."

"I know." Anakin said; voice flat and trying to resist the urge to hunch his shoulders and curl in on himself at the disapproval of the older, more experienced Master.

Anakin was supposed to be a bounty hunter right now. Not just any bounty hunter, either, but the one that had killed Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. There'd already been enough doubt and skepticism leveled at him so far—though much of it silenced after a small brawl in the dining hall his first night had left his opponent being carried to the medical center—and he didn't need it being made worse by someone seeing him looking like a chastised youngling.

"If we don't disrupt this plan, the Supreme Chancellor's life will be in grave danger. At this point in the war, that is a blow the Republic can't risk taking."

"Yes, Master." Anakin said softly, closing his eyes at the new rush of shame and determination that flooded him. "It's just… Eval hasn't been as eager to recruit as our intel might have suggested."

Obi-Wan wouldn't have had this problem, Anakin knew. He flashed a smile and said a few slick words, and doors opened for him that Anakin would have had to beat on til they broke down. Even any other Jedi might have had better luck charming Moralo Eval and Bane into letting them tag along on, but it seemed there was something about Anakin that made people reluctant to take him in.

"What do you mean?" Mace Windu asked, uneasy interest coloring his words.

"I don't know exactly." Anakin replied, frustrated at his inability to put it into words. The feeling had only niggled at him as he tried to cross his paths with them, and was deftly maneuvered around. Every near-miss rang with purposeful coincidence, a planned sort of serendipity that worked against him at every turn. "Apparently they'd been scouting out a few others for the last week. Putting out feelers for other bounty hunters that might be suitable for this… team or whatever it is. But the entire time I've been here, they've barely said a word to anyone but each other. The few times someone has tried to find a way in, Cad Bane looks like he wants to put a blaster bolt in their chest and ushers Eval away before they can do anything."

"This is… concerning." Mace said, sounding legitimately unsettled by the news beneath his careful calm. "Do you have any idea what might have caused this change?"

Anakin wanted to bite back that, _no, he didn't know_ , because if he did, didn't Mace think he'd have found a way around it? But he only pressed his lips together briefly before making his voice suitable for speaking to a council member. He knew better than to act like that. Playing into the gruffer side of Hardeen for the trial and to keep up his charade might have loosened his already tenuous grasp on his control, but he couldn't afford to let that happen in front of the likes of Mace Windu.

"I don't know for sure, but it's almost like…" He struggled to find some way to communicate the feeling in the pit of his stomach, the way the Force pulsed uneasily around him, tugging him towards a conclusion that remained just barely out of his grasp. "Like something's gone wrong. Something happened they weren't expecting. Word is they got a message from the outside, but they aren't able to talk to the rest of this team to find out if the plan has changed or how. They're being careful, now. And that makes it harder for us."

The other end of the com link was silent for long enough, Anakin began to wonder if the Jedi Master had cut the connection, or perhaps left, until Mace's voice rang through again, as calm and deep as it ever was. "Understood, Skywalker."

"Any new instructions, Master?" Anakin asked, hoping for some direction, for some wisdom that he hadn't been able to glean from the Force in his impatience.

"Continue the mission, Skywalker." Came the reply. "If something has changed, it is more important than ever that you be there to prevent what might come of it."

"Yes, Master." He grit out, annoyed at the unhelpfulness of it all.

"Skywalker."

"Yes, Master?"

"Don't make me regret trusting you with this. There is much at stake."

"Yes, Master. Skywalker out."

Anakin cut off the com link and crushed the small piece of metal in his hand before he could say or do something he would regret later, and knowing he couldn't risk the device being found.

He exited the corridor he'd found, empty and small enough he could ensure he was alone and unheard, and returned to the room of exercise equipment. He got a few inquisitive look from the other prisoners in the room, but his irritation served him well enough as the snarl on his lips was enough to send their gazes skittering away.

He moved to a rack of weights, working through a set of some lift or another mindlessly, trying to pinpoint what might have happened in the past few days that had left Moralo Eval looking over his shoulder, nervous and unsure, when everything Anakin had heard said that before, he'd practically been advertising his group for the elitest of the elite.

And why did it have to happen right before Anakin was meant to join up with them? He scowled again, mind slipping inevitably to the other events of the past few days—blaster shots and falling, waking up to his funeral happening overhead, Obi-Wan shoving him against a wall, something like fury and despair in his eyes-

And no, Anakin wouldn't let himself think about that. It was nearly as vexing as trying to navigate his way through this situation. That night, in the back of a Coruscanti underworld cantina, felt more like a fever dream than a reality. Obi-Wan Kenobi _didn't_ act out of anger, out of spite. He didn't act in _cruelty_.

Worry pooled in Anakin again as he thought of what might have happened to unbalance his Master like that. Had Ahsoka been hurt? Had Maul reappeared? No, nothing like that could shake him enough to act so out of his norm. Maul showed up every so often without affecting Obi-Wan in such a way, and if Ahsoka had gotten hurt he'd be calm and collected about that, too. Putting on a brave face so that Ahsoka would feel safe… Nothing Anakin could think of would explain.

Mace and the council certainly wouldn't tell Anakin in any case, not wanting to distract him from what was at hand, but Anakin still felt cold and empty at the thought of Obi-Wan in that much pain.

Anakin's mind drifted to Padmé's apartments then, and the thought of her there. He tried to imagine what she'd be doing, how she'd be handling what seemed like the cruelest sweep of fate to hit her yet, but he couldn't. Padmé had never been anything but industrious and passionate, and Anakin found that he couldn't picture her being anything but in the face of adversity, and yet, the thought of her continuing on as always when faced with his apparent death didn't sit well either.

Had it been Padmé's death, and Anakin left to pick up the pieces, he'd have been incapable. He couldn't envision a world where he existed after Padmé did not. She had always had more certainty and control of her faculties than Anakin, but that did not mean she didn't feel everything as keenly as he did. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Anakin wished he had told Padmé about the plan; that he _could_ have told her about the plan. Would that have been better, though? To leave her biting her tongue around those who cared for her, unable to speak truth? To know that he wasn't dead, but he could be if something went wrong?

Anakin couldn't think about that, though. He couldn't do anything to help Obi-Wan like this, and he couldn't correct any wrong he'd done to him, Ahsoka or Padmé now. All he could do was see this mission to its end. But to do that, he had to gain the trust of Moralo Eval and, Force help him, Cad Bane. They were planning something, Anakin knew, but he didn't know what, or when. All he knew was that whenever they broke out of this place, he had to be with them.

 

* * *

 

The daytime passed quickly and without incident. Padmé knew this was always how it went.

The job of a galactic senator was never finished, and so morning and afternoon and evening filled themselves to the brim without any prompting. There were proposed motions to review, and letters from constituents to respond to, and updates on the war effort to consider as she gripped the edges of her pad too tightly.

There was Obi-Wan and his short visits, seeking comfort, giving comfort, and searching for aid in a problem that was not her own, and so seemed somehow simpler to fix.

Padmé had not brought herself to reenter the senate meetings, but Dorme returned from them with word of growing tension and frantically raised voices, debating what should be done from there, and what wartime measures were to be necessary evils, and which were only evils.

So yes, daytime was busy, if only with unpleasant tasks she set herself to. Nighttime though—empty and quiet as it was—felt far heavier to her.

Padmé sat on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest as she hugged them, and let the darkness of the bedroom curl around her. There were no laws or lobbies to fill her thoughts, and so they filled themselves. It was a dangerous thing to let them do, spinning around in circles, chasing an answer that would never come.

A frown tugged her lips as she blinked feverishly at tears she didn't want to allow to fall. Snippets of her life turned over in her mind: smiles and meadows and deserts and a sunset over a lake.

Padmé swiped a hand at her cheek, almost angry at the tears she found there.

"Blast." She huffed before all of it gave way beneath the weight of how ridiculous she must seem, sitting alone in a bed too big for just her, crying over something she'd already shed more than enough tears over. "Stupid girl. Look what he's done to you."

"My lady?"

The bed dipped beside her with added weight, slim arms sliding around Padmé's form in offer of comfort. The senator let out a shaky laugh and glanced over through her tears at her closest friend and most loyal handmaiden.

"Sabé-"

"I know." She rubbed soft, slow circles into Padmé's back.

"When does this stop?" Padmé whispered, almost more to the shadows of the room than the woman next to her. "I'm fine for so long. I find my strength and move along with what I've set my mind to, but the minute I stop, the second I am done throwing myself at things to be done, I'm a weeping child again. When does this end?"

Sabé hummed softly in commiseration, rather than lie to her. Padmé appreciated the lack of empty platitudes almost as much as she wished there wasn't a part of her that just wanted to be lied to for a moment and told that it would all be easy.

"He's such an idiot." She hiccupped. "I hate him."

"Well," Sabé sniffed haughtily. "I never did like him much myself."

Padmé couldn't contain the watery giggle that came as she buried her head into Sabé's shoulder.

"Truly, just awful." She barely managed.

"The worst." Sabé agreed, solemn.

Padmé didn't know how long they sat there, filling the room with quiet laughter where before it'd had only the sound of speeders outside the window and the rustle of her nightdress against the duvet. It was long enough, though, that by the time Sabé reached out to wipe the last of the moisture off of Padmé's face, Padmé's eye burned with more exhaustion than sadness.

"I should go back." She mumbled, surprising even herself with the words, but once they were out, it felt like a weight lifted off her chest. Her absence, her dereliction had rested heavily on her, and though she had stayed up to date with happenings, she of all people knew how quickly proceedings could be turned on their heads. "To work. I need to be part of Senate sessions again."

Sabé pursed her lips, considering. "Are you ready to go back?"

"As much as I ever will be." Padmé said and leaned her weight further into her friend's side, reveling in solidness that the conviction of having made a decision left. "I can't waste away in these rooms when I could be out there."

"Especially not over some moron." Sabé too must have been feeling the pull of exhaustion, because it held none of the facsimile disdain of earlier.

"Yeah," Padmé agreed, tired enough that, for the first time since it happened, she didn't feel the customary stab of grief that came with thinking of Anakin. Instead, her mind felt oddly clear as it pulled up some memory she couldn't place of him looking back at her over his shoulder, soft smile meant just for her on his face. "Especially not over him."

They sat again in silence for a time before Sabé pressed her cheek against the top of Padmé's head. "You need sleep, then, my lady."

"Easier said than done." Padmé knew she was right, though, and leaned away to free her friend. She felt a little colder for the distance, and at the thought of sitting there alone again, waiting for sleep to take her.

Sabé's lips twisted in sympathy. "It won't always be so hard. What is it the Jedi say? He's passed into the Force now?"

Padmé sighed. "I wish that helped as much as they think it does."

"Nothing ever does, Pads, but it can bring a small amount of comfort…as well as time with those who understand and care, those who love you and you love. You are not alone." Sabé squeezed Padmé's hand and brought it up to press kiss to her knuckles. "But for now, get to bed. It is late. Morning will come far quicker than any of us would prefer."

Before she could stop herself, or before Sabé could pull entirely away, Padmé gripped her hand tighter. "Stay with me tonight?"

Sabé's confusion softened immediately. "Of course."

In the way that daytime passed quickly for Padmé, for the first time in what felt like an eon, the night slipped by them too, silent and slow.

 

* * *

 

The days following Obi-Wan's reconciliation with Ahsoka did not hold nearly as much relief as he might have liked. It was not enough to merely ask her if she would take him for it to be made official, so he spent the better part of two afternoons with the rest of the Jedi council working out if it was truly the best way to proceed.

A case had been made that perhaps it should be Plo Koon to take over her education, and Obi-Wan had to close his eyes against a building headache, because he couldn't even say that they were wrong. He couldn't say that he was unequivocally the best suited to guide Ahsoka through this, through the challenges of war and grief on top of everything else that a Padawan needed to learn and embody in order to grow into the type of knight the galaxy needed. Obi-Wan didn't _know_ if he was the best one.

At the same time though, the thought of seeing Ahsoka taken under the wing of another Master, of her going off on months-long missions without him seeing her or hearing news of her, of her having a different battalion at her back and a different Jedi at her front—even one like Plo Koon—settled, ugly and heavy in his ribcage, and dug into his lungs, leaving his breaths short and thin. He convinced himself, if only for a second, that maybe it _was_ best for him to let her go, because wasn't this a form of attachment? That fear, that bitterness at the thought of leveraging distance between them now, was exactly the type of thing he might have chastised Anakin for what felt like a lifetime ago now.

 _She needs you right now_. Padmé had said, though. _I think we all need each other right now_.

And Obi-Wan didn't think she was wrong, either, so he made his own case to the council, calm and outwardly unaffected as they had always expected him to be. He'd trained Anakin, after all, he told them. He'd already been involved with Ahsoka's training due to her being part of his lineage, and the amount of battlefields they'd already shared. He was the best-versed in what she had learned, what she had yet to learn.

He did not speak of Anakin more than was absolutely necessary. He did not bring up all the blithe jokes that had been made over the years between Anakin and Obi-Wan— _to_ Anakin and Obi-Wan—about _their_ Padawan.

 _Our Padawan_ , they had said to each other, at first because it had amused them, and then because it had been true. Obi-Wan did not tell the council that this would be the most natural course of action because it was not so much a switch of custody so much as it was a narrowing. He could not stop the thought from passing through his own mind, but it couldn't be helped.

Neither was it a relief once they finally settled that, yes, Obi-Wan would take her as his Padawan in an official capacity. The decision clearly displeased some members of the council—though for which of the innumerable reasons that had been spoken or unspoken, Obi-Wan could not say—and it was not the end of work to be done.

He spent the next few days slowly integrating her back to classes, integrating himself back into the mindset of having a Padawan that took classes, and figuring out in more exact detail what she had yet to learn. It was with the most disorienting sense of deja vu that he sat down at the desk in his quarters and began to write out a report on her progress, to set lesson plans, and review a possible upcoming mission.

Had it been so long ago that he'd been doing this for Anakin and himself? It felt like the handful of years between then and now contained millennia. By the time he came to a short note one of her instructors had made several months ago about her tendencies towards snark in class, he couldn't help the strangled laugh that found its way out.

"She's so much like you." He said to the empty room, rubbing the heels of his palms over his face. "What I did to deserve it, I don't know."

It was a good amount of time before he could bring himself to continue catching up on the parts of their—now just his—Padawan's life he'd not been a part of. He only got about half an hour of work when his datapad flashed with a message notification.

 _Senator Padmé Amidala: Hello Master Kenobi.  
_ _Senator Padmé Amidala: I hope I haven't caught you at a bad time._

Obi-Wan smiled slightly at the formality of her greeting before typing back. Whatever reason she had for contacting him, it'd be a good and welcome break from some of the more bureaucratic aspects of his catching up.

 _Obi-Wan Kenobi: Not at all. What can I do for you?  
_ _Senator Padmé Amidala: You can start by telling me how you and Ahsoka are. We haven't spoken in some time, and my patience wears down to leave room for concern._

He looked at the chrono on the wall, and saw that it was much later in the day than he'd have thought. Obi-Wan had locked himself in his rooms for most of the day now, and he ran a hand over his face as he thought of the lunch he'd unknowingly missed. The Senate would have adjourned by now, and Padmé would have returned to her apartments to continue reviewing measures and whatever other orders of business certainly vying for her attention; Obi-Wan was apparently among them.

He paused, considering the past handful of days and how he would possibly go about trying to put them into words. He didn't think he'd be capable of explaining just the odd sort of way his dynamic with Ahsoka was limping along—a strange combination of an old normal, and a new unfamiliarity. If he could, would Padmé understand? She'd be the best person to even try, but she hadn't yet been around Ahsoka long enough to feel this loss in particular in such a specific and stinging way.

There were moments that it almost felt natural again, where they'd fall into a rhythm of speech, only to falter when a third voice didn't chime in with some comment or observation to bridge the conversation further. They'd spent more than a handful of seconds waiting for a participant in their verbal sparring that wasn't there. It was like playing a waltz in common time, only to trip as every fourth beat was empty, and try to keep going once the music started up again on the next measure.

Obi-Wan didn't think he could put all of that into a message and have it come out making any sort of sense, so he went with a more banal—if still truthful—approach

 _Obi-Wan Kenobi: Since returning, she's handled everything as admirably as any Jedi Knight would be expected to.  
_ _Senator Padmé Amidala: A very diplomatic answer._

He could almost see the unimpressed quirk of her eyebrow.

 _Obi-Wan Kenobi: Coming from you, that's high praise.  
__Senator Padmé Amidala: Praise was not the intention._  
_Senator Padmé Amidala: And you didn't answer on how you are doing._

Obi-Wan had to take pause at that, almost an amused smile curling the corners of his mouth. Leave it to Padmé to see through his simple answer. He wondered if she had always had such a keen eye for subtle deceptions and distractions, or if it was something she had honed over years of dealing with Anakin.

 _Obi-Wan Kenobi: We're doing better. It's difficult at times, but for the most part we are moving forward.  
Obi-Wan Kenobi: But I get the feeling that you have another reason to contact me at this time.  
Obi-Wan Kenobi: What can I do for you, Milady?  
_ _Senator Padmé Amidala: Is it that obvious?_

Obi-Wan felt a small smile tug at his lips. He, after all, had also had to deal with Anakin for many years, and was not left without tools for seeing through things himself.

He could imagine her laughing softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement at being caught. It struck him momentarily how well he seemed to know Padmé now, how easily he could see her face and picture her response.

 _Senator Padmé Amidala: I did also wish to extend an invitation to you and Ahsoka to attend the Festival of Lights with me on Naboo.  
Senator Padmé Amidala: As my personal security, that is.  
__Senator Padmé Amidala: The Senate and the Jedi are both requiring protection for the Chancellor and I on our visit. If it's amenable to you, I would like to request that it be you._  
_Senator Padmé Amidala: Though you two will also be encouraged to enjoy yourselves for the duration._

He leaned back in his seat and stroked a hand over his beard, considering. A mission—a small but relaxing one. It could be good for Ahsoka as well, to get them both back into the routine of missions, and off Coruscant for a time.

_Obi-Wan Kenobi: I think that would be lovely._

It would, at the very least, give him some time out of his quarters, and away from the reports waiting for him on his datapad.

* * *

To be continued…


End file.
